The Huntress
by ShoutFinder
Summary: Hunting has always been a part of Aela's life. She never expected it to define entirely who she would turn out to be in both this world and the next. It leads her from the town of Rorikstead to become a member of the Companions, and where she learns that the she-wolf she is often described to be will ultimately be a part of her. This is the Huntress's story.
1. Prologue - Shadows

**Author's Note: Greetings readers! This is my first fanfiction. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to review after each chapter. Criticisms, comments, or praise, I don't mind at all, please tell me how you like Aela's story.  
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**Also I have recently read Aela's wiki page online and I learned that her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother etc were Companions, and that she lived in the woods with her father until her Trial. This story follows my own imagination to what I imagined Aela's life to have been like as a young girl.  
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**Note: Alyssa the Dragonborn is only briefly mentioned in this chapter and doesn't actually formally appear until chapter thirty-nine which is soon to come, but she is my original character.**

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Prologue

Shadows. Shadows are all that remain of my life. That, and the scars. One can never get rid of the scars.

Not once did I expect my life to turn the way that it did. I had grief and sorrow, joy and excitement, companionship and hope. I experienced all these things, and not once have I regretted devoting my life to the Companions.

I never have been one for writing, let alone writing out my entire life. At least, the parts of my life that mattered to me. Whether they matter to you is for you alone to decide.

My name is Aela. I'm no longer a huntress. I'm too old nowadays to leave Whiterun much. Unusual, is it not, that I linger around Jorrvaskr even when I can be nobody's Shield-Sibling anymore? But the others accept me. They treat me like some kind of heroine, someone who can be revered in song and in stories. They raise a mug to me each night when we gather at the table to drink and feast.

I'll never be that person. But Alyssa was.

Songs are sung in her praise. She is revered by both the living and the dead, by mortals and immortals alike. In Jorrvaskr, we sing the Tale of the Tongues that spoke of her great victory, long ago. Even though she once fought against Whiterun the townsfolk still honour her. At least, those who worshipped Talos.

I've never been one to worship the Gods. But I've been one to worship the Daedra. But not all of them. Only one. I hope I've served my Lord well enough to earn his favour when I finally am claimed by the Father of Manbeasts, and I join him and Skjor in the Hunting Grounds.

I've kept my secret well. Nobody outside the Companions has suspected me of being moonborn. And Alyssa held in her secret well. Nobody suspected her to be moonborn, either. They call her something else that has so much more meaning than being lycanthropic. But here in Jorrvaskr, she will always be called Harbinger.

Why I revere her myself isn't just because she had the ancient powers flowing in her very soul, that she slew a nightmarish terror that would have devoured us all, that she had more talent with a bow and arrow than me and defended herself against hordes of creatures I never imagined even existed. I revere her because Alyssa had been so much a friend to me. She's always been there for me. We hunted together, howled to the skies together, cleared out caverns of bandits and beasts as Shield-Siblings. We gathered Totems of Hircine and stored them in the Underforge. She was like a sister to me. She's been a good Harbinger to us all, despite her other duties that more often than not keep her away from Whiterun...and her darker secrets which were revealed, in time, to us all.

The Companions often looked to the Circle for guidance whenever that happened, when a particularly long absence of our Harbinger made our whelps worried. Farkas and Vilkas never used to worry, though. Calmly they held the Companions together with me. As a trio we would help the Companions, but we weren't Harbingers. We never will be; we were never meant to hold that post of leadership. I'm not sure I ever would have wanted to; I'm too reckless, too solitary for whelps to look up to me.

There is another now in the Circle. A young Nord named Freia. She's got all the skills and abilities and attributes of Alyssa, though she never speaks of her much. It's obvious that she's to become the Harbinger one day. Everyone knows this. Even before Farkas and Vilkas passed they admitted that Freia seemed like the right young woman to lead the Companions, rather like Alyssa had been. She's small but she's hardy, and she's been through more experiences as a child than she has as an adult so far. And she has more mettle than most of our whelps who had been in the mead hall for some months earlier. Alyssa passed from this world a long time ago; her time had come then, the time when she needed to sacrifice herself to save the world once more from the dragon menace. So we are ready to accept Freia as Harbinger, when the time is right.

Some say that Alyssa ascended to become a goddess, as Tiber Septim had ascended when he died. Some believe that the Daedric Lords claimed her spirit for their own strange and wonderful paradises. Farkas and Vilkas both thought that Hircine had claimed her spirit and dragged her into the Hunting Grounds.

Me? I think that dragons are very hard to tame. And most mortals don't have two spirits within them.

No, I think that Alyssa followed Kodlak. She went to Sovngarde once, in life. I'm sure she returned there in death.

And as for me, I am happy to join the Hunting Grounds when I die. I'll see Skjor again. I'll be able to hunt for eternity. Hunting's always been in my blood, even when I was a young girl. And I'm too old to make the journey to the Flame of the Harbingers, anyway, to purify myself. Winterhold is such a long journey for an old woman. I'm sorry that I'll never see Vilkas or Farkas or Alyssa again. Or even Kodlak. But that's why I write now. I write like Kodlak wrote, when he first had the Dream that foretold Alyssa's coming, though none of us understood. I write to honour their memories, so that others can preserve them. They deserve to be remembered. And I know that my story will be finished, before I close my eyes, and wake in the Hunting Grounds, and hunt alongside my old friend Skjor forever.


	2. Chapter 1 - A Young Lass in Rorikstead

PART ONE: COME FORTH HUNTRESS

Chapter One

Day hadn't broken yet. So there was still plenty of cover. The antlered buck raised its head in caution, as though expecting to find me somewhere.

But I had taken care to keep myself exceptionally well-hidden, and I gave myself a satisfied smile. The scrubby heather that grew amongst the wild grasses of Whiterun Hold were always perfect for hiding oneself in. The buck lowered its head and continued its grazing. But I knew that its guard was up. Had it detected my scent? The winds of Whiterun could easily change course. They had been blowing towards me last, carrying my scent away from where the quarry stood.

Very, very slowly, I raised my bow, the arrow pressed tightly to the bowstring. Narrowing my eyes in concentration, I searched for the best place to hit the deer. I knew it was disrespectful to simply wound the deer, and let the smell of its blood attract wolves and sabre cats and even those filthy skeevers. And I liked my kills to be clean. I got more money for the hides that way as well.

I saw a weak spot in the buck's throat. Perfect.

I smiled to myself, and released the arrow. It whistled softly through the air, making less sound than a luna moth. And then it buried itself into the deer's throat. It let out a startled noise, abruptly cut off as the arrowhead silenced its life. And the deer fell onto its side with a gasp and a thud as its corpse landed on the packed earth, long legs clattering lifelessly at its side.

Quickly I leapt from the heather. Since it was on a small rise, I fell a little, and I stumbled a bit on landing, but straightened up at once, and approached the deer to field-dress it. There was no need. It was already quite dead.

A good shot, I knew. An excellent kill. My mentor would say the same. I knelt down beside the lifeless buck and tugged the arrow from its throat. After wiping it on the grass I slid it back into the quiver that hung on my back, and exchanged my bow for my skinning knife. Flicking up the sharp blade I smiled, pleased that I had taken the time last evening to sharpen it. And catching my reflection in the shiny metal, I hesitated.

I had hunted many times before. But this was the first time I had done it alone.

Was my mentor watching? I looked self-consciously over my shoulder, as though expecting him to suddenly leap from the same heather I had hid in earlier, reprimanding me sharply for making too much noise, or startling the deer, or wounding it wrongly. But all I heard was the soft sigh of the wind as it glided ghostlike over the grass, rustling the heads and making me shiver. Predawn was chilly, even for a Nord.

With deft hands, shaking with apprehension, I removed the majestic antlers from its head—they would make a fine trophy or be worth some septims at the market—and began to skin the buck, cutting it the way my mentor Panjor had shown me. Until now, he had always guided my hands, muttering softly the method so I did not forget and spoil the hide. And I did not want to do this wrongly. I gritted my teeth in concentration, keeping my movements slow and sure. I could not bear the thought of failing, and having to spend another night of searching for a kill. It had taken me the best of three hours unearthing and following the tracks left by this particular buck and I was determined to do well.

_I will not fail,_ I told myself.

My hand slipped; I winced as I felt the tip of the blade score across my other hand. Cursing, I dropped the skinning knife and watched as my own red blood welled from the cut on my palm.

Yes, this just _had_ to be the day that I forgot to bring the antiseptic balm with me. The bloody tip of the skinning knife didn't just have my blood.

I wasn't revolted by the fact that a possibly-septic knife had dug into my skin and wounded me but the thought that I was most likely going to taste raw deer blood. Even so, when you're in the open wilderness of Whiterun Hold, you can't let your blood touch the earth or the beasts will follow your scent. Quickly I raised my hand and licked the wound with my own tongue like an animal, feeling a disgusting sour taste curdle in my mouth as I felt the deer blood mingle amongst my own. When the wound was clean (more or less) I pressed my thumb firmly over the cut and waited until I was sure the bleeding had staunched.

Fortunately the wound was shallow. I hoped that I was not going to have to repeat the blood-sucking performance. I picked up my skinning knife and resumed the chore.

Somewhere, in the wilderness of the Whiterun Hold, I was sure that Panjor was watching me. Perhaps he was being critical in his mind, scolding me to be so clumsy as to have cut myself in the first place. "A good huntress never lets herself be discovered," he always said to me. Leaving blood was a way of being discovered, by other wild animals that were a little more aggressive than deer; wolves, for example. One of his infinite pearls of wisdom he always threw my way and expected me to remember, day after day. And hunting was important to me; it fed my family, and it provided a modest income with the pelts I scored from the kills. Plus, there was nothing more thrilling for me than the hunt.

My mother often described me to be like a she-wolf; I was solitary from my brothers, always preferring to be alone. I was proud; I wanted to do anything and everything without assistance, and I was wild; I loved the outdoors. I loved the thrill of chasing, and of finding hidden things, and following animal tracks until I came to the prize, waiting for me to claim it.

I smiled to myself at the memory of her words. Thinking of my early days, when I was just a small young girl, completely innocent to the world beyond Rorikstead, it helped me concentrate. Before I knew it, I had finished skinning the deer, and as I removed the slightly-bloody hide from the beast, revealing nothing but a mass of bones, sinew, blood and flesh, I even felt a little proud of myself. I had forgotten completely about the wound on my hand. Carefully, I rolled up the deer hide, keeping the bloody part of the pelt on the inside, and then covered the bloody carcass with branches and grasses to help conceal its scent long enough for me to reach Rorikstead. Unfortunately, the flesh of this particular deer was diseased and inedible—the deer must have been sick—so therefore not worth gathering, and so it needed to be covered before predators were attracted by the smell of a free meal. It wouldn't do any good for a bunch of wolves to be following my trail back to my town, with only a few guardsmen and old Rorik to protect us from them.

And me, of course; I smiled a little to myself at the thought of me protecting my townspeople. Oh, I may be small for my age, and my weapons a bow and arrows, but I could still be formidable to wolves. I already had killed several deer, stealthily and cleanly at that. And Panjor, too; he'd be a skilled protector of Rorikstead. But my mentor wasn't always in town. Often he had to leave on business.

But Panjor was here today. It was dawn by the time I returned to Rorikstead. The farming community looked much the same, but the streets and the fields were empty. Almost empty, I should say; the few Whiterun guards still patrolled the roads even this early in the morning, and Panjor was waiting for me at the edge of town. His old wrinkled face broke into a smile as he saw me return with the deer hide rolled beneath one arm and antlers in hand. "The hunt went well?" he inquired.

But I had a feeling he had seen the entire thing.

"Of course," I said, using the same jaunty tone I enjoyed using when I was around Panjor. Keeping my cut hand hidden—no need to mention my clumsy slip—I half-held up the antlers. "Plus, I skinned the buck correctly," I added, with a thrill of pride that I had managed to do it alone this time.

Panjor looked impressed. He asked me to spread out the hide on the ground so he could inspect it for himself. When he finished inspecting it, his whole face was a big smile now. "Very good, Aela! You're becoming quite a huntress. Soon I won't have any more to teach you."

I smiled back. "Good."

Panjor looked teasingly at me. "What, are you sick of me already?"

"No, I'm sick of you treating me like a little girl."

"Have I?" Panjor's eyes became round and innocent. "No, I don't think I've been treating you like a _little_ girl for the last few years, when you began to get the knack of the art of hunting. I've been treating you like a _girl_, but you're not so young anymore."

"Don't treat me like a girl," I pouted.

"Do you want me to treat you like a boy?" asked Panjor.

"No; treat me like a she-wolf." The words came to my tongue before I could stop them.

Panjor grinned coyly. "If I treated you like a she-wolf, I would trap you and skin you and sell your hide at market, as I would to any she-wolf and he-wolf that dare threaten me or those around me," he said. "I'm sure that your hide wouldn't fetch very much at market. Not furry enough."

"One day it will be." I bore my teeth and growled my best wolf-growl to him. "And you wouldn't be able to catch me. I'm far too clever. I know how to undo your traps, because you taught me how to set them up in the first place."

"True," Panjor conceded. "Only a foolish hunter would teach his prey how to avoid him."

Here we go, I said to myself. Another few pearls of wisdom.

"So did I pass?" I asked my mentor. I knew that this had been a set assessment, and though it may or may not matter to me in the future, I wanted to do well. Panjor had been teaching me since I was six, barely old enough to hold a bow properly, to knock an arrow straight, to even draw the bowstring to my cheek. I knew that he had been expecting me to do well. I held my breath tentatively.

"Oh, definitely," said Panjor. "With flying colours, in fact."

"Excellent."

Panjor looked amused. "You sound as if you expected to pass."

"Well, I...hoped," I said grudgingly.

He chuckled. "I've been teaching you for ten years," he said to me. "Of course you were going to pass, my girl. You've successfully killed and skinned your own animal by yourself in the middle of Whiterun wilderness, which proves that you're well on the road to completing your training."

The thought of ever completing my training was a strange and exciting thought. I had never really given much regard to what I would do when Panjor left Rorikstead for good, and I was on my own as a huntress. All I knew was that Panjor had been a part of my life since I was a small girl and the very thought of him not being part of it was a very haunting one. He had been like an older brother to me, and more so than my two brothers at home, who regarded Panjor with something like hostility.

"So am I going to head to more advanced stuff now?" I asked. "Such as predator-hunting?"

Panjor considered this. "Learning the tracks of bears, you mean?"

"And giants. And mammoths. And sabre cats. And trolls."

"And...? And...?" Panjor echoed. He waved a hand and chuckled. "You sound like a child demanding one sweet after the other."

I scowled. "I want to learn _all_ their tracks! There are so many animals in Skyrim to learn the trails of!"

"Most animals you won't need to learn the trails of, because you won't hunt them—at least, not often," said Panjor. "And I've taught you most trails. You know sabre cat pawprints and the tracks of wolves and foxes."

"Foxes are cowards; they always flee from danger. And wolves hunt in packs," I argued. "Besides, I don't just want to learn the trails of more serious animals. I want to learn how to hunt them as well. Though they don't bear nice pelts they're made out of stuff that alchemists pay a lot of money for."

I crossed my arms. "You told me yourself that a good huntress hunts for those who need what is from the quarries."

"And that is completely true," said Panjor. "I'm glad that you listen to most of my pearls of wisdom."

"Some," I corrected. "And some tend to linger in my head a lot more than they should."

"But you're not ready to start learning troll trails yet."

I frowned angrily. "Why not?"

"Trolls are still too dangerous for an apprentice hunter to take down on her own," warned Panjor, and his voice became firm and authoritative, the voice that he used when he was being earnest and dead serious. "And they're very strong. They possess a self-healing factor in their blood, which allows them to recover from any wounds that they receive. Their skin is very thick and fatty. There is a special technique that you use for killing trolls but you are not ready to start learning how to kill them yet."

I sighed grumpily. "So I'm back to learning fox trails?"

"No." Panjor paused thoughtfully, and then said, "I'll teach you how to pick up the trail of bears."

I brightened almost at once. Bears were very dangerous in Skyrim, but their thick, shaggy pelts were worth quite a lot of money. "Really?"

"Of course," Panjor said. "You're ready to learn bear trails, but you'll need me at your side again. You won't be taking down bears by yourself until at least a year after your training. Bears, as you know, are very large, heavy, and very dangerous. Taking down one stealthily will prove difficult. Their hides are like armour, hard to pierce with one arrow alone."

"So how do you take down bears?" I demanded.

"Simple; you wound them and weaken them with bear traps," replied Panjor. I recalled the large, heavy traps that, when pressure was applied in the centre, the sharp-edged traps would spring shut in a heartbeat on whatever had stepped on the trap, holding it helpless. "And then you wait until they're too exhausted to fight back anymore, and aim for their heads. Their skulls can be pierced with a well-aimed shot, and it'll end their pain quickly."

He patted my shoulder. "But I won't begin until after you've had some rest. You've been up for half the night, hunting. And until I return from my journey."

I sagged with disappointment. "Not another one."

"Yes, another one," said Panjor. "I'm afraid that this is one of the longer ones. I'll be gone for five days. Perhaps a week. But I'll definitely return in at least ten days. This I can promise."

I scowled. "So you get my hopes up with the promise of learning to trap and kill bears, and then dash them by marching off into nowhere on business for a week!"

"Use that time to reflect on all you have learned from me in the past ten years. I've spent that time gathering your skills and sharpening them to a lethal point." Panjor looked at me with pride. "I expect you to have plenty of pelts to show me when I come home."

"Where are you going?" I asked. I hoped that this time he would tell me; Panjor rarely did. It was as if where he was going on his 'journeys' was some big secret that he kept from _me_, his apprentice. It was enough to make me suspicious.

But this time, I had luck. "My friends in Falkreath have unearthed the den of a she-bear and her cubs. They want my help in subduing them. And we'll gather some nice pelts at the time. We're heading east into the Rift."

"The Rift?" My jaw dropped open in shock. "But that's...that's miles away!"

"Of course. That's why I'll be gone for so long. The den was an old one, but they've found her tracks; she's moved into the Rift and it'll take the most skilled of hunters to find her." Panjor looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, Aela. Perhaps next time, when you know how to kill bears, I'll take you on one of my trips."

"You've never taken me before, even when you go to wolf lairs and exterminate whole packs, something I'm more than capable of doing," I protested. "I wish you'd tell me more often where you went."

"When you're older."

My scowl deepened. Apart from his many pearls of wisdom, the phrase 'When you're older' was Panjor's favourite thing to say to me, whenever I asked if I could accompany him on his journeys, or I asked to learn a new hunting technique, or how to set a new trap.

Seeing my rebellious face, Panjor laughed and patted my shoulder fondly. "You _do_ remind me of a she-wolf!" he chortled. "I hope that you don't bite."

"I might, if you don't stop treating me like a stupid little girl," I warned him.

"You are neither stupid nor...well, you're not as little as before," Panjor responded. "And I will take you on a journey, one day. I promise, Aela." His voice was sincere, and I knew he was being earnest. "But it wouldn't exactly be good of me to suddenly disappear from Rorikstead with you without telling anyone. Your parents would have a fit. I'd become a wanted fugitive."

That was true. Mother and Father still needed me, particularly to provide the meat for the table. I felt a thrill of pride that they looked up to me to provide for them, and smugness that while my task for the family was to hunt for meat, my brothers had to plough the fields and weed the vegetable garden. They weren't hunters. They didn't even know how to shoot.

"Your place is still here in Rorikstead, helping your family," said Panjor. "And I'll be back soon enough. Use what I've taught you to feed your family." He bent down and rolled up the deer hide, and took the antlers from me. "I'll sell these while I'm away," he offered, "and bring you half of what I get for them."

"Half? I want all."

"Half goes to me, for providing you with the tools used to kill and skin the deer," said Panjor.

That did seem fair, so I relented. Panjor had paid out of his own savings for my bow and my arrows, and he wasn't the richest man, either. And half did seem better than nothing at all, or a quarter of the share. So I shook his hand formally and said, "Fine. Half. But don't think of cheating me, or I _will_ bite."

Panjor smiled. And then the next thing I knew, he was walking out of Rorikstead, and up the road towards distant Whiterun on the other side of the Hold. All I felt was impatience that I was going to have to wait to learn how to trap bears for their hides.

Oh, and tiredness. I turned and stumbled wearily back to my cottage to get some rest. Even she-wolves had to rest their heads sometimes, and the most fearsome huntress of Whiterun Hold was allowed to feel tiredness after being out in the middle of nowhere for a whole night.

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**Author's Note: Panjor is my original character and doesn't appear in the game, but stands as a fictional character as Aela's mentor. Later in the story he'll play a really significant role.  
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**So review and tell me how I went...did I do good?  
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	3. Chapter 2 - First Meeting the Companions

Chapter Two

Three days after Panjor left, I was feeling bored and irritated.

It had been a month since Panjor last left on one of his journeys, and I had forgotten how quickly frustrated and bored I got without him getting frustrated and bored with me. Even though Panjor could often be quite nagging and teasing and correcting twenty-four-seven I enjoyed his company, because now I was at that age and level when I could start nagging and teasing back at him.

I don't know how I was going to survive the next few days with only my brothers for company.

Now don't get me wrong. My brothers Lokir and Ulfgar (named after the revered hero Ulfgar the Unending, so my mother tells me) are good brothers. They're loyal and hardworking, but we don't spend a lot of time together, because we're more different than you can possibly imagine. Lokir and Ulfgar like spending time together, joking, playing around, arguing with one another whose turn it was to weed the garden and spending time with the goats. I like getting things done promptly, being alone, and hunting. I didn't spend much time with the goats. I had killed wild goats and skinned them, so it didn't exactly feel right to stand next to them when the blood of their brethren was on my hands.

I was also feeling bored and irritated because my brothers were growing irritated. Why they were was because it was now halfway through Heartfire and time for the annual harvest of Rorikstead, when all the wheat fields were golden and ready to be gathered in, in preparation of the upcoming winter. Because Rorikstead isn't the largest community, everyone has to pitch in and help. Including me, the hunter of the community, which I feel is pretty stupid. The best thing I do is hunt, not scythe away the wheat.

The guards, for example, don't help with the harvest. They guard. So why not let me hunt?

But I don't argue, unlike my brothers. They would have argued, if they were the hunters for the family. I simply decide to get my share of the harvest out of the way as quickly as possible so I can grab my bow and go hunting as soon as possible.

I completely regretted these words now. It was now two days into the harvest. I hadn't done any hunting since Panjor left. Most of the day that was between Panjor's leave and the start of the Heartfire harvest was spent sleeping and sharpening my arrowheads and keeping my two brothers out of trouble while my father went to help our neighbours out with a troublesome plough.

Now I was itching to do some hunting.

Bitterly I thought of what I could be doing. I could be out in the middle of the Whiterun prairie, following the trail of a young elk, or a doe, or a lost fawn, creeping through heather bushes budding with wildflowers and jumping small streams that bubbled with clear water that was refreshing to drink from. My arrows and my bow would be slung over my shoulder. I would find and I would kill the quarries, and I would have an array of shiny pelts and antlers to show to Panjor when he returned from his journey. He would be proud of me and teach me how to set bear traps.

But instead, I was standing in the middle of our vegetable garden, digging up carrots with a hoe.

My hands ached from the endless ploughing, of lifting the hoe and plunging it into the dirt. Each time I unearthed a carrot, I pulled it completely out from the ground, dusted it off of muck the best I could, and tossed it to the side. But I was feeling a little stupid.

_Oh, if Panjor could see me now,_ I thought ruefully, pausing in my work a moment to rub my sore hands and blistered fingers together, and bitterly scorning the stupid hoe. My hands would be too sore to use the bow tomorrow. _I'd just die of humiliation._

I wiped a strand of russet hair form my face, and picked up the hoe again. I wasn't the only one working hard. The whole town was working their fingers to the bone. Lokir and Ulfgar had the tougher jobs of harvesting the corn fields with the young man Lemkil who lived next door. Personally, I didn't like Lemkil very much; the young man was snobbish and rude most of the time, though that might partially be because it was his responsibility to run the family farm. But he was a hard worker, and when you could cope with his noticeable surliness, you could get a job done twice as fast with him around.

At least, I told myself to some consolidation, our family's plot of fertile land overlooked Whiterun. Our farm faced east, towards the edge of town and towards distant Whiterun, which I couldn't see, but I could imagine. Mother had told me that Whiterun was a very big city, much bigger and populated than our own little town of Rorikstead. There were several farms surrounding Whiterun, which was built on a big hill. The biggest building was the mighty palace Dragonsreach, a house so enormously big it could be seen for miles. In the centre of the city, Father said to me, was a big tree called the Gildergreen, which was a very special tree to the city for bearing fruits and beautiful leaves and for letting the whispers of Kynareth speak through its branches that rattled in the winds She brought to the city. Pilgrims constantly made the journey just to see the Gildergreen and to hear Kynareth's whispers.

The farm also overlooked the winding road. On clear days, I could see very far along it, right to the part when it wound around a small rise and disappeared from view. The whitish cobblestone could be seen clearly near the vegetable patch, which was right beside the road that led into Rorikstead. But I had never seen many travellers on the roads. Some were simple travellers, heading along the road towards Solitude, or to Markarth. More than once, we had seen small patrols of members of the Legion pass through on their way north. We didn't get so many travellers these days, and the roads were often empty.

So you can imagine my surprise when suddenly I saw riders appear on the road.

I was curious, and I stopped working and straightened, peering into the fall sunshine to see the riders more clearly.

They rode on big horses, one bay, one palomino and one black. There were three of them, one to each horse. They rode purposefully side-by-side, I saw, at a steady, trotting pace. In the late-afternoon sun I couldn't see their faces clearly but I could see at once that these weren't simple travellers. These strangers were warriors. They all wore gleaming metal armour and had big weapons resting at their sides or on their shoulders. One of them had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his back.

Excitement made me drop the hoe and dash to the fence, leaning over it in my eagerness to see these newcomers clearly. The other townsfolk of Rorikstead were hearing the horse hooves clopping against the road now and were coming out from their farms to have a better look at who was entering their own quiet town, far from any other civilization. They saw the warriors, and they whispered amongst themselves in great excitement.

They drew near. I looked closely at the leading rider's face. He was hard and weathered-looking, with a big scar cutting across one cheek, and greyish lips, and slick red hair. His eyes were piercing and dark blue, and unusually bright. He wore strange armour, tan-coloured, with a small carving of a sort of wolf's head jutting out from just beneath his chin. Soft, grey wolf's fur lined his collar, cuffs, at the tops of his boots and the base of his cuirass. It was unusual armour; one I had never seen before. Slung over the odd armour were the bow and arrows.

Presently he noticed me and reined in his horse to trot up to the fence. Nervously I leaned back and considered taking a few more steps backwards, but instead the rider said in a gruff voice, "Greetings, girl. What is your name?"

I was a little surprised. "Um...you first," I said.

One of the riders behind the first suddenly let out a bout of laughter, and my eyes darted towards him. He was a young man, but well-muscled, and wore light grey steel armour with brown fur around the edges. He had a hard-lined face and a black streak of war paint on one cheek, and one eye was milky and white. "She has spirit!" he said. The black mount that he rode sidled closer to nibble a bit of lush Whiterun grass near the fence.

"Or impertinence," said the gruff-voiced man, who obviously seemed to be their leader. But he smiled. "Very well, if you insist. My name is Leiknir, the Harbinger of the Companions."

Shock clouded my thoughts. I had only heard of the Companions in Father's stories of Whiterun. They were the legendary band of warriors who resided in the mead hall Jorrvaskr that sat beneath the Skyforge, the ancient forge which the city was built up around, where the finest steel in all Tamriel was crafted. The Harbinger was their leader, the one respected sincerely by all throughout Skyrim, the commander of the Companions.

Obviously my shock showed through because Leiknir chuckled and said, "So, you've heard of the Companions then, have you, farm girl?"

My shock disappeared, to be replaced with a flash of irritation. "I'm not a farm girl," I said to the Harbinger. "I'm a huntress."

"A huntress, are you? Can you shoot?"

I stared at Leiknir. He obviously doubted my word. I forced myself to sound as polite as I could manage, when I responded, "I've been learning to hunt for ten years. I have made many kills. I have used a bow and arrows for all that time."

And then I thought of myself, standing ankle-deep in ploughed earth, covered in dust and wearing dirty farmer's clothing, hair straddled around my dirty, sweaty face, my hands aching and sore from the plough. No wonder they didn't think of me as a huntress, I thought, with an internal squirm of embarrassment. Why couldn't I have actually been _hunting_ before I met the Companions' Harbinger?

"But in the times I don't hunt, I work with my family to provide crops for the store," I continued, desperate to explain myself. "This is the Heartfire harvest for Rorikstead, so I'm needed in the fields more than I am hunting for meat for the fires."

"I suppose that is good a reason as any," conceded the third rider. He was a man certainly many years older than the Companion who rode the black horse, who had bright dark silver, almost black, hair twisted back behind his head. He had a sort of spiral war paint on his right cheek, and a beard beginning to grow around his chin. His eyes were bright grey. His face, however, was barely lined, and slightly scarred from old battles. He wore the same armour as his Harbinger.

"And how goes the harvest?" asked the rider of the black horse—the young man who had said I had spirit.

"Well," I replied levelly. "But it's hard work. Hopefully we will have enough to last us through the winter. But the fields are rich in growth and my father's a fantastic...um...vegetable-grower, so I think we should be sound."

I admit, I felt a little bit stupid, telling these battle-hardened warriors how we were going with a harvest. These men must fight every day of their lives, and here I was, digging up carrots.

"May I have the privilege of getting better acquainted with your Companions?" I asked of the Harbinger, letting a flash of my old spirit show.

Leiknir chuckled. "They're my personal escorts," he said. "I have been called for council in Solitude from High King Torygg. I'll let them introduce themselves for me."

The one-eyed man on the black horse dipped his head briefly to me. "I'm Skjor," he said. "I'm just a beginner at the Companions. I've been with them for a few years, but to them, I'm still new blood. But the Harbinger trusts me enough to accompany him on his journey." He seemed proud. I realized he must only have just entered his late-twenties, several years out of late adolescence, but that he was about eight or nine years older than I was.

"And you'll keep being a whelp to our eyes till you make it to the Circle," said the third rider, the handsome young silver-black-haired man with the spiral warpaint. He turned and smiled at me beneath his beard. "Call me Kodlak. I'm a member of the Circle, a senior member of the Companions."

His eyes, I noticed then, were just as unusually bright and dark as Leiknir's. His face was sharply outlined, as though he had been hungry for a long time. I carefully measured his slightly-unusual appearance and then turned back to the Harbinger.

"What business do you have here in our humble town of Rorikstead, Harbinger?" I asked as respectfully as I could manage.

"It is too late for further travel today," said Leiknir. "So we have decided to stop in Rorikstead for the night. Do you have an inn we could rest in for the night?"

"Um...sure. The Frostfruit Inn usually has plenty of spare beds." Mralki, an ex-Legion soldier, who had fought in the recently-ended Great War, had only just opened up the inn. He hadn't had a lot of business but he had enough to keep the coin coming in at a slow but constant rate. _He'll be overjoyed and positively alarmed when the Harbinger walks in and asks for a drink and three rooms,_ I thought. I pointed out the inn to them.

In fact, most of the townspeople were positively alarmed and overjoyed that the revered Companions had come to visit their little town of Rorikstead. Everywhere, people were stopping in their work to come and pay their respects to Leiknir, wishing him endlessly safe travels and a pleasant stay. It took some time before they even managed to reach the inn, not too far away from my own house.

I found myself staring at the Companions with a mixture of jealousy and awe. They got to go and see the world whenever they wished. They got to fight all kinds of monsters that I had only heard about in fairytales and legends for a living. They journeyed throughout Skyrim to clear out beast nests and bandit camps and were so important that the High King himself was seeking the Harbinger's advice on important matters in a council. I had never strayed farther than two miles from Rorikstead before.

And as well as that, I was embarrassed. I could have at least had my bow and my arrows on my shoulders when the Harbinger first saw me. I could have looked like a huntress, not a simple farmhand. I self-consciously brushed back my hair from my face and rubbed at the dirt that had gathered there, and then decided right there and then that I would clean myself up, first of all, and then go hunting; Mother and Father were probably too preoccupied with the Companions' arrival to notice if I slipped away for a few hours. I glanced at my blistered fingers. They ached. To hell with my sore hands; I just needed a break from the damn hoe. If the Companions were going to stay the night, then I could at least provide Mralki with some fresh meat for the fires.

I headed inside, changed into cleaner garments, brushed my hair out, and slung the quiver of arrows over my shoulder and the bow over that. I put on my hunting boots, made of real moccasin, and headed outside. By then, most of the townsfolk had calmed down enough to resume their chores. My brothers, I saw, were helping one of the Companions—Kodlak, I think—gear down and clean the three horses. Their backs were turned to me and they seemed to be completely absorbed in their task, even though the only other hooved animals they had been around their entire lives were the goats in our pen behind the house. So I guessed that they weren't professional horse-brushers. As I watched, Lokir dropped one brush onto his foot.

Leiknir, the Harbinger, was nowhere to be seen. Must be inside, I figured, renting rooms from Mralki.

So I turned and as I was heading out of Rorikstead, I heard a voice behind me. "Where are you off to, huntress?"

I glanced over my shoulder. The youngest Companion—Skjor—was standing just behind me.

"Where do you think?" I asked, relieved internally that I had at least cleaned myself up before the Companion saw me again, and I looked more like a huntress now. "Hunting."

"Mind if I join you?"

I was so surprised by this question—coming from a real Companion—that for a moment I said utterly nothing. Then I composed myself and said as haughtily as I could manage, "If you can keep up. And if you're quiet enough."

"Are you testing me now?" Skjor was grinning.

"It's my duty as a huntress to check the noise levels of my companions," I said. I looked skeptically at Skjor's armour and added, "I'm guessing that steel armour isn't the most quiet of outfits to wear when one hunts."

"No, it isn't. But it protects your life better than what you have on." Skjor looked critically at my own light, close-fitting clothing.

"Hunters don't need to have their lives protected," I said to him, accompanying these words with an eye-roll, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "A good huntress never lets herself be discovered." I found myself repeating Panjor's words of wisdom and suddenly, it made me feel quite professional compared to this Companion. Yes, I was young, I was sixteen, an unqualified huntress, but here I was better than him. I liked that feeling.

Skjor's lightheartedness did not diminish at this. "You have quite a lot of spirit for a teenager."

"My mother calls me a she-wolf. You'd best remember that."

"Do you have the temperament of one?"

"Just about."

"Not the fangs?"

"No."

Skjor breathed out in relief. "Oh, that's good. You look as if you were going to bite."

"I just might, if you don't shut up and follow me."

Skjor softly chuckled as he fell into step beside me. "You've quite a lot of nerve, saying that to a Companion," he said, trying to sound stern, but failing. He was grinning too much, completely amused.

"You asked to join me," I reminded him. "So out here, _I'm_ the boss."

"Right, boss; but I have one more question, if you don't mind."

I paused and looked at him. "And what's that?"

"What's your name?"

I stared at Skjor again. Here he was, a Companion, someone who killed wolves and bears and trolls for a living, cleared out bandit dens for pastimes and who drank in the mead hall Jorrvaskr almost every single night, asking for my name. I was just a young lass in Rorikstead. I had never even _seen_ the Companions before. And part of me was a little stunned that I had been so hotheaded with him, and he hadn't minded. So I gave him a small smile and said, "Aela."

"Aela." Skjor repeated the name, and said, "A good name."

"Did you think I had a terrible name?" I asked him.

"No, but I wasn't expecting a name quite like Aela." I sensed that Skjor wasn't kidding.

We moved up the hill away from Rorikstead, in near silence. Skjor only commented once or twice how nice Whiterun Hold looked in the late-afternoon sunshine. Then, after a while, I said, "If you don't mind _my_ asking, what are you going to Solitude for?"

"I thought you knew; Leiknir's been summoned by the High King."

"Yes, but for _what_?"

Skjor shrugged. His armour rattled. "Who knows? They wouldn't tell me much. I'm just a Shield-Brother to Kodlak, really. He's more or less my mentor."

"You're prenticed to Kodlak?"

"Yeah. Old man's been teaching me all he knows about swordplay." Skjor flashed me a small, embarrassed smile. "Well, he's not _that_ old. I mean, he's only mid-aged and all, but he's got all the experience of one who's much, much older. Been teaching me all he knows about swords since I first signed up with the Companions, and I've learned a hell of a lot from Kodlak. He's been with the Companions for a good two decades now and still going strong. He and Leiknir are good friends."

"I'm still prenticed myself," I remarked. "To an experienced hunter. He's away on business at the moment; you won't see him." Suddenly I paused, and I crouched down in the grass, and carefully moving away a stray blade of grass I made out the soft, barely-noticeable track of an animal. It was very fresh.

"Rabbit," said Skjor above me.

I glanced up at him in surprise. "What?"

"That's a rabbit's footprint," said Skjor.

So it was. "Are you a hunter as well?" I asked him, straightening up.

"I do it for a pastime," said Skjor casually. He smiled at my surprised expression.

Mentally I kicked myself.

"And you hunt in that armour of yours?" I asked, trying to regain my composure, as we continued walking through the lush prairie grass.

"No. I change into leather attire when I hunt," replied Skjor. "But I don't hunt very often. I'd like to, but...ah, well. Duty calls. And...well, I'm not going to pass up on a chance to journey with our Harbinger. I mean, wow. What an honour."

"Doesn't Leiknir get out much?"

"No, not really. He stays back in Jorrvaskr. Sometimes, though, he heads out at night. Not sure why. Doesn't return till early morning and then goes straight to bed." Skjor paused for a moment, as though remembering, and commented, "Always wears old clothes, not his armour, when he heads out. The clothes come back looking pretty tattered."

"Any idea why?"

"I don't know and I don't care. He's our Harbinger. Oh, there's your rabbit."

"What?" I peered in the direction he was pointing. It wasn't until the tiny brown speck on the horizon moved that I actually realized it was the rabbit that Skjor was pointing at. I stared at him in surprise. "How the heck did you manage to see it from so far away?"

"I've had keen eyes since I was a boy," replied Skjor. "My Ma used to call me Eagle-Eyes. That is, until I lost my left eye. But if anything, the sight in my remaining eye's improved. Anyway, I think I just like Skjor better. And I prefer using a longsword to a longbow. The same can't be said for you, I'm afraid." He smiled at the bow that had been shrugged from my shoulders and rested now in my grasp.

"Tell you what," I said to Skjor. "If I can hit the rabbit from this far, you can tell me all about the Companions."

"What do you want to know about us?" Skjor asked.

"Um...what Whiterun is like. The Skyforge. Jorrvaskr. Everything about your city." There was a hint of pleading in my voice. "And about the other Holds. I'm desperate to learn more about them but I haven't been able to get out very much. I don't exactly do a lot of travelling."

Skjor smiled. "Deal. And what will I get in return?"

"Ah...the right to keep annoying me?" I offered.

"Sounds good. Can I start now?"

"No."

Perhaps he had noticed the state of my sore hands. I raised the bow and picked out an arrow. As I fastened it to the string and pulled back, I winced as pain throbbed in my fingertips, bruised and blistered from the rough outside of the hoe. My arms trembled from the strain of holding back the bowstring, worn from the excessive work of using the hoe. My eyes sought out the rabbit, and I aimed, as carefully as I could. Beside me, Skjor stood as silent as statue, holding his breath even, so as not to distract me one little bit.

_Appreciated,_ I thought. I narrowed my eyes on the rabbit, some sixty to seventy metres away from me, melted in amongst the grass. The air was still. I raised the bow slightly, and then released, praying I had calculated the long-distance shot right. I had never shot something so small from this distance before. A million to one chances I would miss.

I watched as the arrow whistled through the air, rising at first gently up, and then arching downwards, turning into a tiny speck, until it disappeared. But both Skjor and I saw the rabbit suddenly stiffen and then fall sideways with the faintest rustle of grass.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Skjor, starting to laugh. "You're pretty ace with your bow and arrows."

I was astonished myself. I hadn't actually expected to hit it. But I didn't let my astonishment show. I slung the bow back over my shoulder and hurried towards the rabbit carcass without giving myself a chance to lose the small brown body amongst the grass, not letting my gaze drift once from where it lay. Skjor kept up semi-effortlessly behind me.

I reached the rabbit. It was thrashing a little in pain—the arrow had pierced its leg and gut but it wasn't quite dead yet. Quickly I tugged my skinning knife from my belt, pressed lightly down on it shoulder to steady it, and cut its throat to end its suffering. Quickly it died, with a final twitch of its whiskers. Then I tugged the arrow from its hindquarters and wiped it lightly on the grass.

I straightened, holding the rabbit by its long hind legs. Skjor caught up. His heavy armour had slowed him down, I saw to my satisfaction, compared to my light woven clothes coloured the earthy greens and browns of the Whiterun Hold grasslands, and my moccasins. Holding it up triumphantly, I added, "Right. You're to tell me about the Companions. You promised."

"I did, didn't I?" Skjor didn't sound disappointed, though. "That all the hunting you'll do today?"

"Maybe."

"I found the track of a fawn just back there," offered Skjor. "I was going to mention it to you but you rushed on ahead like a gazelle to get your fallen rabbit."

"Too easy to lose in the grasslands. Show me the trail." I narrowed my eyes at Skjor. "You know, for a Companion, you're awfully witty. I would've thought that you'd have been...more composed, you know. Like your Harbinger."

Skjor flashed me a coy grin, the same grin that Panjor often used on me. "Ah, only the members of the Circle are allowed to be all high-and-mighty and composed. Whelps and new blood can do what they please, as long as they don't get too drunk in Jorrvaskr and start singing Ragnar the Red in the early hours of the morning and alert the town guards."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Um...no."

I pretended to drop the subject and followed Skjor to the fawn trail he uncovered. But I decided to ask Kodlak later on, if I could get a private word with the Companion in the inn.

* * *

**Author's Note: If anyone does know who Kodlak's predecessor was please tell me! I just invented Leiknir to fill in the space.**

**Also, it's purely out of my imagination that Lokir and Ulfgar are Aela's brothers. I thought it would be interesting that Lokir the horse-thief who dies in the beginning of the game was actually related to Aela. Do you like the idea?  
**


	4. Chapter 3 - The Wolves

Chapter Three

"So what's life like, as a Companion?"

Skjor leaned back against the wall, mead in hand, but fortunately he wasn't drunk yet. "Fun," he said eventually.

I snorted. " 'Fun'? That the best you could come up with?"

"Well, that's only one of the attributes," smiled Skjor, uncorking his mead. "I mean, killing bears a lot gets to be quite fun, when you're used to killing bears."

I propped up my chin on one hand. "What's it like, to kill bears?"

"Difficult," replied Skjor. "You have to avoid their claws, for one thing. They're about three inches long, and wickedly sharp—oh, and their teeth. You always have to keep clear of their teeth. But you whack one in the throat a few times with a sword and that's enough to put them down." He took a swig and wiped his mouth before continuing with, "The only problem is getting near enough to cut their necks."

"So I'm guessing that you don't take bears out the traditional hunter's way?" I suggested.

"And what's the traditional hunter's way?"

I pretended to look affronted. "You, Skjor, a hunter, doesn't know the traditional way to kill a bear."

Skjor's lips twitched. "Nor do you."

"I do too! I haven't learned to do it yet, though," I admitted. "But you weaken the bear with a bear trap first until it's bled itself out and then it's all tired. And then you can shoot it in the head, putting it down instantly."

Skjor shrugged. "Doesn't sound like much fun, though."

I let a skeptical look cross my face. "Do you want everything to be fun?"

"Oh, yes. Life's too dull without any fun. But I'm not a Sanguine, I don't expect and I don't want _everything_ to be fun." Skjor let out a grin. "But there's no harm in trying."

"Well, is the mead hall Jorrvaskr as fun as you hoped it to be?"

Skjor frowned thoughtfully. "Well, some of my fellow Shield-Siblings are quite good to be around with; I mean, they're friendly, and they're decent in battle with me, but most of them are new blood. Not members of the Circle," he explained. "I have quite a few friends in Jorrvaskr who I lift a mug of ale with. Oh, and Kodlak. He's the only member of the Circle who spends time with most of the whelps, helping them train."

"So Kodlak isn't just your mentor," I guessed.

"No, not really. And hunting isn't his strong point, either."

"So who teaches you for hunting?"

"Taught. My mentor for hunting left several years ago. Not sure where she went off to, but she's one of those sorts to never stay in one place for too long."

I brightened. "Same! My mentor never stays in Rorikstead for very long. He leaves regularly on his 'trips'. They're always turned out to be hunting journeys, though. He's currently in the Rift hunting down a she-bear and her cubs."

Skjor leaned forward, and set his mead down on the table. "Anything else you want to know?"

"How long has Leiknir been leader of the Companions?"

Skjor frowned. "I dunno. Golly, he was Harbinger since before I was even born. Long before I was even born, in fact. It won't be long before he steps down and another Harbinger takes his place. Not sure who he's gonna pick; there are lots of members in the Circle who are certainly up for the role."

"So...effectively, a very, very long time?" I offered.

"Yeah." Skjor laughed. "That's what I like about you, Aela. You're straight to the point, with no bullshit in between."

I grinned. "That's me. Now, tell me more about Whiterun."

"What is there to say? Built up ages ago, a big magnificent city on the hill overlooking the Hold. There're plenty of buildings and homes and families—oh, and the city's kind of divided, too. Well, they're beginning to divide."

"Why? What's happening?"

"Two really influential family clans in the city—the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns—have been arguing of late. There's been trouble between them ever since the White-Gold Concordat was signed, outlawing the worship of Talos." Skjor's voice had become a touch bitter. I couldn't help but feel a flash of anger towards the Elves. My mother had told me, when I was a few years younger, how the Great War had ended, and how the White-Gold Concordat had been signed by the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire, effectively banishing Talos worship from the world. A plain insult to the Nords.

"But hopefully it won't come to a war between them," Skjor said. "Even so, the Gray-Manes are welcome in Jorrvaskr; always supported us, they have. In fact, a son of the Gray-Manes serves Leiknir as a Companion; his brother works the Skyforge for us."

I sat up in surprise. "He does?"

"Yeah, young Eorlund. Good man, good at working the forge," said Skjor. "Makes all our weapon and armour and damned good at what he does as well. Skyforge Steel, he calls the metal—ten times lighter and stronger than any other steel forged anywhere else in Tamriel. And it's good to know that he's right at our doorstep, too."

I looked at Skjor's armour. "Is your armour made out of Skyforge Steel?"

"This old clunker? Nah, made out of traditional metal. I've been thinking of Eorlund to make me some good Skyforge armour, though." Skjor let out a soft sigh. "It's very nice in Jorrvaskr. We've got our own little area where nobody but Companions and Gray-Manes are allowed, a nice look of Dragonsreach from the backyard as well, and a view over the east side of Whiterun from a vantage point in the wall. And all the mead we can drink, too. From the front door, we look over the Wind District, and the Gildergreen."

I leaned forward. "The Gildergreen? What's it like?"

"The big old tree in the centre of Whiterun?" Skjor shrugged, unimpressed. "S'far as I'm concerned, it's just a tree, and best left to that. We get a lot of pilgrims, though, coming to see the Gildergreen. I'll admit, it's a nice old tree to sit under when it's the middle of Sun's Height, but I don't care what the wind sound likes through its branches. I've never been a religious sort."

"You seem to revere Talos."

"What Nord doesn't revere Talos? But I don't need to go to a temple every Sundas to prove that to the rest of the world I revere him. Not that there's a temple anymore. Just a monument off to the side of the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr, where citizens are free to pay their respects."

"I thought that Talos worship was outlawed."

"It is. But we'll die before we bend down to the bloody Thalmor lording us over," scowled Skjor. "And we hate those bastard-elves as much as Jarl Igvund does. He allows us to freely worship Talos while we're in Whiterun. And hopefully his heir Balgruuf will let us do the same when he takes the throne."

"Seems fair. I hate others controlling what I do." I leaned back a little in my seat, delicately sipping my own mug of ale. "I mean, it's my life, my choice, and everything that I do should be my decision, not influenced by others."

"Skjor."

A deep voice interrupted our conversation. I glanced over my shoulder to find that Kodlak was standing just behind us, eyes glinting with disapproval. "When you've finished gossiping, get yourself into a bed. We're leaving early tomorrow and we may leave you behind if you aren't up at the crack of dawn."

"Yes, Kodlak," Skjor assured him. "And you won't be running off without me."

"You can't be certain about that." Kodlak flashed me a glance. Then he turned and walked away.

"So you're leaving very early tomorrow morning because...?" I prompted.

"I suppose Leiknir wants to get to Solitude as soon as possible," shrugged Skjor. He heaved himself to his feet and pushed off from the table. "Well, I suppose I'd better get some rest. And you, too." He glanced at me. "Tell you what, huntress. In a couple of days when we pass back through here—if the meeting goes well—I'll tell you as much as I'm allowed to tell you what happens in the Blue Palace."

"And if you don't, I'm allowed to strap antlers to your head, turn you out into the grasslands, and go night-hunting?"

Skjor looked at me, trying to determine whether I was being serious or not.

"Maybe," he said eventually, and headed to his room.

* * *

The Companions were gone by the time I woke up the following morning. Everyone was speaking excitedly of their arrival. Mralki was near-rejoicing at the fact he had plenty of gold to add to his stores as well as a lot of barley from his little plot of land behind the house.

But gradually the talk died down and everyone got on with the day of harvest. Hopefully today would be the last day. And fortunately, today was overcast but not heavy enough for rain, so at least that got the hot sun off our backs.

My hands were soon aching but not as badly as yesterday, and I made a mental note to ask the town wizard Jouane for a small healing balm later on, so my fingers wouldn't be too blistered for hunting. Panjor could be coming home tomorrow and I didn't just want to show him one goat hide and one rabbit skin to prove that yes, I had been 'meditating on all I had learned'.

The day of harvest went fairly uneventfully and successfully and I couldn't help cheering when the final field was finally ploughed, and the last corn cob harvested. The whole town breathed a sigh of relief; each year's harvest seemed to be tougher than before, but at least our crops grew well in the fertile soil.

I couldn't help grinning when I saw the state of Lokir's and Ulfgar's hands. They were heavily calloused and blistered and bruised and scratched from the firm corn leaves, and they looked completely exhausted. Mother and Father looked even worse, but she was happy. By evening, most of us had forgotten about the Companions' visit; they were busy having a celebratory feast in their cottages.

I had managed to slip out and kill a young goat. I didn't head east into the Whiterun Hold, as I usually did, but west, towards the Reach, where a large contingency of goats were. So we had goat stew that night and Mother's a fantastic cook. Another goat pelt to add to the pile.

The next morning I set out at once. I wanted to be out of the house before Mother and Father could set me another tedious chore. I spent as long as I could out in the grasslands, following faint trails, tracking the old paths of a small group of deer that had passed by lately. Soon I encountered them by a brook, drinking, completely unaware that they were in danger. I was concealed in a patch of scrub and picked out the easiest kill, a slightly-lame doe who stood near the edge of the gang of four. It wasn't difficult to put her down.

After skinning her and gathering some venison I set off back to Rorikstead. I expected Panjor to be back home to greet me. I had a lovely speckled hide to show him, and the other three pelts, and some meat for the pot tonight. But to my disappointment he wasn't home. Nor were the Companions.

The next morning Panjor wasn't outside. The Companions weren't back, either. I was beginning to wonder why they were taking so long passing back through Rorikstead. In fact, I was a little afraid that they had passed through without my knowing. When I asked, Ulfgar told me that as far as he knew, they hadn't, but he couldn't be sure; he and Lokir were ploughing the fields for the new sow next year and didn't watch the road a lot while they were doing it.

But I knew that I'd just get too restless if I stayed behind in Rorikstead. So I went and found my brothers.

"Lokir," I said to the nearest brother, "If anyone passes through, can you tell me?"

"No," said Lokir, in traditional brotherly fashion.

"Why not?" I asked, in traditional sisterly fashion.

"Because you'll be out in the middle of the grasslands and I am not going to trek across the flats to find you," said Lokir scornfully. "Why are you so uptight about those Companions, Aela? Do you like them or something?"

"No," I scoffed. "But there's nothing wrong with having friends."

"Friends...a boyfriend?"

"No!" I gave Lokir a kick. "Can you just tell me if they came through or not? I'll be back at midday."

"Fine," said Lokir, in the tone that suggested he was not going to tell me anyway.

Well, that was my brother for you. Then again, Ulfgar could be like that at times as well. So you can imagine that I was relieved to get away from them when I left Rorikstead behind me and set off across the grasslands in search of a quarry.

Soon I unearthed the trail of an elk. Male, I knew, by the shape of the cloven hooves, so he would have an enormous pair of antlers for me. Perfect. But the tracks were old—he had moved far during the night. Maybe even crossed to the other side of the Hold. Damnit.

Well, there was no harm in trying, I supposed. I had a few hours. Might as well make the most of them.

For that time I followed the trail, finding tiny bits of evidence that suggested the elk had passed by here recently; a tuft of fur caught on a bramble, soft tracks outlined in a patch of mud, a bit of chewed grass near the bank of a brook. More footprints. The trail here weaved back sharply on itself as if something had startled the elk. Scattered loosely around the rebuking elk track were pawprints. Wolf footprints, I recognized. I'd know wolf prints anywhere.

Quickly, at a run, I set off following the elk's running trail. It had looked fairly fresh—barely two or three hours old. I jumped a stream. The trail was heading steadily back towards Rorikstead, but veering slightly north.

With each step, the tracks were a tiny bit fresher. I was gaining on the distant elk.

I leapt over a hill and stood at the top, down at a small dale. Below was the elk.

Dead.

The wolves, I told myself. The wolves had to be the reason for the death of the mighty elk. Even from here, I could see the sheer size of its body, the gigantic antlers lying clattered on the earth. Those antlers could be worth hundreds, I realized. And the pelt would be a rarity at the markets. And the prize was lying, waiting for me to claim it.

I knew that wolves would have savaged the elk. The meat would be inedible if wolf fangs had torn into the flesh. It looked like it hadn't really been eaten. But there wasn't much I could see from the top of the hill.

Every sense was telling me to turn back, to find another prize to claim. Another pearl of wisdom from Panjor echoed in my mind: _If a wild kill lies abandoned, it is unwise for the huntress to approach it, and claim it for her own._ Why? The thing that killed the dead animal was probably still lurking around.

But those antlers were so enormous I couldn't resist. I'd impress Panjor so damn much he wouldn't have much of a choice when it came to teaching. He might even trust me enough to take me on one of his journeys. And the wolves didn't seem to be around. I knew that it was uncommon for wolves to eat nothing when they caught a kill, unless they had suddenly spotted another prize that looked healthier and juicier and rushed off to claim it. But still...

I climbed down the slope. I slipped and slid a little, as it was pretty steep, but soon I was standing in the dale. I approached the dead elk, skinning knife in hand. There was blood streaked on the dirt around it, and gashes in its legs, its throat torn out. Its blood splattered its hide. Its eyes were wide, glazed and unseeing. Flies were beginning to buzz around it.

But the antlers...Mara preserve me, I had never seen such enormous antlers before. In awe I felt the tips, barely believing them to be real. But they were, all right. They were real, and made of solid ivory. It'd make hundreds of septims. Maybe even thousands, if they were completely undamaged and whole and a matching pair.

Then I noticed the pawprints surrounding the elk. I knelt down, out of safety's sake, and began to investigate the tracks, at the freshness of the prints.

My heart leapt into my throat. Shit. These prints weren't hours hold. They were _minutes _old.

Right on cue, I heard the rumbling snarl. Slowly, dreading what I was going to see, I turned, and saw three gaunt wolves standing at the top of the dale, looking down at me with hungry black eyes.

Slowly, keeping every move steady, I straightened up. I knew that wolves were fast. They were deadly. They killed without mercy. And I was badly outnumbered. Each wolf was in length my height, and armed with deadly teeth that were probably going to give me a nasty infection if they bit me. Which they were obviously intending to do. Whether I could kill them before they reached me was something for debate. I wasn't the world's fastest arrow-drawer and the world's most accurate shooter if the prize was coming towards me at a very swift and aggressive rate. That, I was not used to. Most things I killed tried to run _away_ from me.

Oh, if Panjor could see me now, I ruefully thought. What he would say to his apprentice who had wandered willingly into a trap set by wolves.

The wolves weren't approaching yet. They were waiting for me to make the first move. So I measured them up, considered how I was best going to kill them.

Three against one. Three full-grown wolves against one young woman. Three sets of lethal teeth against one skinning knife, and/or arrows from my bow, if I could reach them in time. Which I probably wouldn't. Looks like it was my little skinning knife against three bloody-enormous wolves. Yep. Luck was definitely _not_ on my side today.

I half-raised my skinning knife. It must have looked like a pretty feeble weapon. But wolves have utterly no sense of humour. All they knew was killing. And that's just what they did. Suddenly they bounded down the slope with terrifying speed. I braced myself for the leading wolf, fear throbbing in my chest, my heart pounding in my throat.

The wolf leapt. I was unprepared for the impact. The huge body slammed into mine, knocking me off my feet. Instinctively I pushed up with my hand, clenching the wolf's jaw, forcing it up as far as I could. Stank, putrid breath washed over me as the wolf forced its head down, jaws snapping towards my throat, low-throated growls echoing from its companions.

With a yell, adrenalin pulsing through my body, I pushed the wolf aside and rolled, throwing it off me. I raised the skinning knife and dug it as hard as I could into its shoulder. With a small yelp of pain it dragged itself away from me. _Well, there goes a nice hide_, I absently thought, in the split second before the second wolf attacked.

I whipped around to meet it. The wolf leapt. I rolled out of the way and back onto my feet, knife poised, half-crouched, ready to move as soon as the wolf leapt back at me again. It circled with hunger in its eyes. Then I heard pounding pawsteps nearby as the third wolf lunged at me. I spun around to see about two hundred pounds of snarling wolf slam again into my chest, pinning me to the ground. I jerked upward with the skinning knife, cutting a gash on its cheek. It barely noticed. Instead its jaws whipped around, and instead of closing on my throat, they closed on my arm.

Pain unlike any I had ever experienced scorched my body and I screamed as the fangs tore into my flesh. With a wild kick, I had pushed the wolf off with a yelp—my moccasins had struck the gut—but the pain remained, numbing my arm, my red blood spilling over my skin and onto the ground. The wolves were harking with excitement; the smell of blood was going to drive them to savaging, I realized with dismay. I hugged my wounded arm close to my chest, my hand already completely numb. The wolves circled. My skinning knife lay nearby. With my left hand I seized it, though I never used a knife in my left hand. Never. I was in a very vulnerable position.

Shit, shit, shit. The fangs had severed an artery in my arm. Perfect.

The wolves were weakening me, I realized. They were going to let me bleed myself out until I was too exhausted to move. Then they'd attack and rip me apart. These were cold, cruel hunters. I straightened as much as I could but already I was feeling a bit dizzy. Bitterly I wished that I was wearing something _other_ than simple garments. I imagined Skjor telling me 'I told you so' if he ever found me in Sovngarde.

I raised the dagger, bloodied at the edges. The wolves barked. One of them charged. I tried to leap out of the way but the wolf was already on top of me. I pushed up desperately with the knife as it fell on me. It went up to the hilt into just beneath its neck but this wolf was built like a troll. It barely seemed to feel the pain I was attempting to inflict on it. The only thing it was doing was preventing the wolf's slavering jaws to close around my throat.

But I couldn't hold it forever. I heard the steps of the other two wolves. They were closing in on me. They were going to rip me apart, not give me the chance to get back to my feet.

I could not believe that I was so bloody stupid. I clenched my teeth with the effort of pushing up the wolf's head but it was completely futile. Any moment his two friends were going to start tearing me into little pieces. I remembered telling Panjor that I would be too clever to wander into a trap.

Well, let's just say that I was wrong by a long way off. Greed is too good a lure.

The wolf's jaws were nearly at neck now. I closed my eyes and hoped it would be painless.

And then suddenly the wolf stiffened above me. The snarling of the wolves abruptly stopped. I opened my eyes to see an arrow protruding clearly from my would-be killer's throat. Its eyes were wide with astonishment, and then it toppled off my body and onto its side.

Another arrow shot through the air and thudded into the flank of the wolf who was standing to my right. It yelped in pain and scrabbled backwards. Already its companion was bounding back up the dale. With shrill yelps the injured wolf followed the best it could, fell halfway, didn't rise. A third arrow sang through the air above me and silenced the wounded wolf.

I heard footsteps crunch over the grass towards me. I was too shocked to move. I simply lay where I was, feeling pain throb in my arm, my blood gush out freely from the torn wound, my vision darkening. And then Panjor was leaning over me.

The last thing I remember was him telling me, "You can't even survive for six days without me."

And then everything went black.


	5. Chapter 4 - A Year of Learning

Chapter Four

I woke up to feel several things. One: bruises. Two: severe pain in my arm. Three: fever. My whole body was burning.

I opened my eyes. Everything was murky.

What happened? Where was I? Was I dead?

No, I couldn't be dead. Because now everything was clearing and I was looking at the underside of the ceiling of my cottage. And lights were winking nearby; candlelight, I realized dully. And yet it seemed too bright.

Stiffly I moved my head. It had not been moved in some time and it throbbed. I realized with a dull feeling in my chest that my arm was very badly damaged. Well, it was covered in bloody bandages, so I suppose it was badly damaged.

And then I began to remember. Wolves.

I felt something light touch my sweaty forehead. I flicked my gaze up the best I could. Someone I recognized was standing over me, tending to my injuries and my fever.

"Stupid girl," said Panjor.

"Um," I said intelligently.

"What were you thinking?" asked Panjor. I had never heard him sound this worried for me, so angry. "You knew perfectly well what had killed the elk. You walked willingly into the trap. As a result you nearly killed yourself."

"Um," I said again. My tongue didn't want to move a lot.

"It's a miracle you even survived the short journey back to Rorikstead," continued Panjor. "Jouane was alerted right away, as was your family. They've been terrified for you."

"Er, what happened?" Finally, I was saying something else other than 'um'.

Panjor paused and looked at me sternly.

"Do you mean what happened, as to how you got here, or what happened, as to what went on after you lost consciousness?" he asked.

"Second choice," I breathed. Gods, I was feeling sick.

"You were losing a lot of blood," said Panjor. "You had a deep gash to your arm. I tried to staunch the bleeding but I knew it would be impossible for me to help you. I didn't have any medicine on me, and the wolf fangs were infected."

"I thought as much."

"You didn't think, otherwise you wouldn't be here, lying in bed with Bone Break Fever."

He dabbed my forehead again with something I recognized to be a damp cloth. The coolness felt strangely relieving on my burning body.

"So I carried you back to Rorikstead, and your brothers ran for Jouane," said Panjor. "The wizard came at a dead run, so I hear. Everyone in Rorikstead was frightened for you."

"They were?" I rasped. Gosh. I didn't realize everyone cared for me that much.

"Oh, yes. Your parents were near terrified. Jouane saved your life, Aela, so I hope that you thank him when you finally stand up and start walking around again. He staunched the bleeding and fed you medicine that prevented the fever from claiming your life when blood loss intentionally would have. You're very lucky to be alive. Some of us thought you would never wake up. You were asleep for three days."

Three days, I repeated internally. Oh, shit.

Panjor relaxed. "And you owe me one, girl. You would've been dead if I hadn't heard your scream and come running."

"Er...what do you want?"

"For you to apologize for being stupid."

I broke into a shaky smile. "All right. I'm sorry for being stupid."

"No, no; repeat after me. I'm sorry for being a stupid little girl."

"I'm sorry for being a stupid little girl," I repeated tonelessly.

Panjor looked at me closely. "With feeling."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding."

"Aela."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry for being a stupid little girl."

Panjor's face broke into that coy grin I loved so much. "Now that's more like it. I treat you like a little girl because I have my reasons, miss Aela. Not many she-wolves allow themselves to be trapped by their menfolk." He looked closely at me. "You're off hunting for a week until your wound heals. Jouane's kindly offered up his range of healing elixirs to help get you back on your feet faster. But even so, I'm not going to be showing you how to set bear traps until you've proven you won't be so reckless."

Disappointment nudged me in the guts, but I simply stiffly nodded my head and said, "Yes, sir."

"Drop the formalities. It doesn't suit me. And it doesn't suit you, either."

"Oh, thank goodness. I thought I'd have to keep going."

Panjor chuckled. "I'm glad to see that the wolves haven't taken away your spirit."

"Panjor...I have to ask. Have any Companions passed through here recently?"

If I wasn't mistaken, I saw Panjor stiffen slightly, a shadow of hate pass over his face. But I was probably mistaken, because in the next heartbeat the expression was gone. I reminded myself I was still quite delirious. "Yes, they did. A couple of days ago," he said.

I sighed. "Damnit. Missed them."

"Why? Were you expecting them?" asked my mentor.

"Well...I was hoping that Skjor would tell me—he's one of the younger Companions, by the way—what was going on in Solitude, why the Harbinger was on his way north."

"Is that so?" Interest gleamed in Panjor's eyes. "Well, they passed through and didn't stop. They rode swiftly back to Whiterun. I think they had spent a little too long from the Companions, and needed to get back to them."

His hand moved, and when I next looked at it, he was holding a small bottle in his hands.

"Here, drink this," he said. He tilted my head back and parted my mouth and tipped the liquid into my mouth. It was strangely sweet and made me feel sleepy as soon as I had swallowed the last drop. I closed my eyes.

* * *

One month later I was winding bear traps.

The wolf incident, as folk in Rorikstead were commonly calling it now, and my bout of Bone Break Fever, was nothing but a memory for me. I still bore the scars on my arm from the wounds the wolf gave me, but I was back to my old state of fitness and rudeness to Panjor, and when I proved myself to have more sense and self-control he began to teach me how to wind bear traps, and where were the best places to put them.

Panjor was working me hard. He hadn't left Rorikstead since the wolf incident. But we were making steady progress. Most of his time was spent helping me re-strengthen my damaged arm, becoming reaccustomed to the bow, encouraging me to do lots of small favours for Jouane as part of my lifelong debt to him. Most of the favours simply involved hunting down alchemical supplies.

Surprisingly, helping Jouane wasn't as dull as I'd have thought. I never would have expected that hunting for plants could be as interesting and mind-consuming as following the tracks for animals. But it wasn't as satisfying.

I never complained. I knew that Panjor was still angry with me for being so foolish. But now he was resuming normal mentorhood and me apprenticehood and now I was learning how to wind bear traps. Much more exciting than searching for nirnroot, I think.

But it would be a while before I actually went bear-hunting. There weren't many bears in Whiterun Hold, not as many in the Rift. But Panjor said that he knew a glade only some miles northeast of Rorikstead where he knew a young grizzly lived. He kept mentioning this glade to give me motivation to complete my training.

So I studied hard. I focused the best I could to Panjor's words, memorizing his little pearls of wisdom that he always threw out every odd day and expected me to catch. His expectations were raised of me. I was so busy trying to become the best huntress I could be that I put the Companions completely out of my head. As far as I was concerned, hunting was my life, not fighting.

The year flew by, I hardly noticed the months changing. From Heartfire to Frostfall, to Sun's Dusk to Evening Star, and after the New Life Festival was over we were back into training, throughout the chillier winter months and then into the spring, when the sow was planted. Panjor still left regularly on his trips but not as regularly as before. Quickly in that year I learned how to recognize bear tracks, and determine the size and weight and strength of the bear from its tracks alone, how to wind up and properly conceal bear traps, and the vital areas of the bear's head. As well as that, I was re-educated on wolf prints (no doubt to Panjor's amusement and my frustration and humiliation) and then I learned the markings of mammoths and giants. Sometimes I even saw the big hulking brutes marching slowly across the plains of Whiterun, though Panjor warned me never to get too close. He also taught me the shape and the markings of the tracks of spriggans, the mythical forest-guardians who hid in trees and ambushed unwary hunters, and who could call all kind of animals to their immediate command, though I've yet to see a proper spriggan marking instead of little sketches in the dust.

Panjor never accompanied me when I went hunting for deer and goat, and I rarely ever slipped up skinning. I never even cut my hand anymore. To think that once I was frightened that I was going to spoil the hide the first time I skinned alone.

And then suddenly I was seventeen and after that, it was time for the annual Heartfire harvest. I could hardly believe that the year had gone by so quickly.

"Promise me," said Panjor, on one of our lesson days, "That you are not going to ask for a fight from wolves again."

I grinned. "Hopefully they won't run into me."

Things had changed in Rorikstead over the year. My brothers Lokir and Ulfgar were growing more sullen and moody, snapping more frequently at Mother and Father about the chores. Often I overheard that they were going to become adventurers when they grew older, that they weren't going to stay behind in Rorikstead and work a plough all their lives.

I don't know why they were thinking of leaving the farm already. They were younger than me—Lokir by three years, Ulfgar by two. If anyone should be thinking of leaving Rorikstead it was me. I was fast becoming a huntress. Panjor even told me himself that probably by the time I was eighteen I wouldn't need to have him as my teacher anymore, and I could go my own way after that.

"Hopefully," I said to my mentor, "you will take me on one of your outings before you abandon me."

Panjor smiled. "Maybe."

I froze. Hadn't that been what Skjor said to me, one year ago to this day? That had been the last thing he had said to me, I realized. I wondered where he was now. Perhaps off fighting mountain trolls, or delving into dangerous Nordic crypts with his Shield-Siblings.

"Now enough talk," said Panjor, jerking me back to the present. "Focus on the scenario. A bear's got half its back turned to you and is half-asleep. A clump of ferns is two metres away from its hind paw. There is a three-metre-wide track between two banks where the bear is resting; in the centre of the track a small stream runs, and brambles grow over the side of the bank where the bear is currently facing. Where do you put the bear trap?"

"Um..." I frowned, thinking. These scenario tests that Panjor always threw towards me were teasers, but I was growing better at identifying the scenarios and where would be good places to put the trap. "The...the clump of ferns...? No! You'd put it in the stream, I mean, just above the stream, where the earth is softest but still firm enough to put pressure evenly down on."

"And why is that?"

"The colour of the bear trap will blend in with the moist earth and the bear will want to try and walk out of the water, and therefore straight into the trap. He won't see it as many bears are colourblind and the bear trap will be not as visible to the bear as it will be to someone like you or me," I listed rapidly.

Panjor's face broke into a satisfied smile. "Good, very good! You've learned much in this past year, Aela."

I smiled. I loved it when Panjor used my name instead of 'lass' or not at all.

"In fact, you've learned so much that I think you're ready to go to Greenspring Hollow."

My heart sprang into my throat in excitement. "R-really?" I gasped.

Panjor nodded. "After the harvest, though. I need to head to Falkreath on business. My friends have reported a massive herd of deer moving north, and we want to be ready to ambush them."

"Deer? Let me guess; I can't come."

"Sorry, lass. You're needed for the harvest."

I scowled. "Why does it always seem to be every year one of your journeys take you away from Rorikstead _exactly_ when it's harvest time?"

"Luck, I'm afraid," said Panjor. "But I'll take you to Greenspring Hollow as soon as I get back and the Heartfire harvest is over. Deal?"

I frowned thoughtfully. "After Greenspring Hollow, you'll teach me how to hunt trolls?"

"All right."

"Very well." We formally shook hands.

And again, I had to watch as Panjor left me in Rorikstead, marching off into the sunset with his travelling cloak drawn tightly around him. He left me to be a farm girl once more. And he was right; my family did need me for the harvest. Father was sick with rockjoint and Lokir and Ulfgar were being difficult again.

Even so, I had a bitterness in my chest which was unusually hard to explain. I was a huntress, not a farmer. And all through the harvest, that bitterness was nursed in secret until I could barely stand it. And I promised myself that next year, next year I was not going to do the harvest again. I was not a farmhand. I was a huntress, and that one day, I was going to leave Rorikstead for good.

* * *

At least Panjor keeps his promises. I kept mine, I didn't go looking for trouble from wolves, and I didn't get bitten and chewed up again. Panjor didn't need to come sprinting heroically over the dale shooting wolves with arrows or nurse me tenderly back to health.

After the harvest he returned, and I noticed at once that he was hurt. There was a fresh scar to his face. I was considering doting over him with great concern as he had done so to me but he simply waved whatever sarcastic comments of immature worry I had to him and said, "No need to panic, my girl. Some of those bucks just put up a bit of a fight."

"I hope you're not seriously injured," I said, fighting back a grin.

Panjor gave me a look that said all too plainly, "Shut up."

"Not as injured as you were last year, at least," he replied. "And I _think_ I should be all right for taking you to Greenspring Hollow."

"So you're really taking me?"

"Of course." Panjor smiled. "You're ready. You've proven yourself to be of good study and you're shaping up into a fine huntress, Aela. Now you're ready to go and kill your first bear, and learn how to skin one properly."

I frowned. "Isn't skinning a bear like skinning a deer and a rabbit?"

"Not quite. Bear hides are thicker and if you try to cut it away like you would a deer hide you'll just end up damaging the fur and lowering its market value," said Panjor, in a matter-of-fact voice that always made me feel a bit stupid. "But I'll show you how to skin a bear properly—after we kill one first, that is. We'll leave at sunrise tomorrow, so go and get your rest. By the way, I have a little present for you."

"You do?" My interest was piqued.

I think the word 'little' used to describe the gift was an understatement. From the depths of his cloak he drew a new quiver, but not only was it of much finer make than the quiver I currently had, it was filled with twenty arrows. _Twenty_. And each arrow was exquisitely crafted, feathered with genuine hawk feathers, and was silver-headed. It must have cost a fortune.

"Is it made of real silver?" I whispered in amazement, as I pulled out one arrow and examined the gleaming triangular head.

Panjor nodded. "No purer silver in the whole of Skyrim. They're very effective against wolves."

I lowered the arrow and gave Panjor my most exasperated look. "You're never going to let it drop, are you?"

"Never," Panjor confirmed with a grin. He patted my shoulder. "Why don't you try those silver arrows out?"

I obliged; though I was a little annoyed at Panjor's joke on the arrows, I already found myself loving them. They were so much more effective than the iron arrows I had been using for the past decade or so. They were lighter, and much easier to shoot, and more deadly; professional's arrows, I decided. I used an old tree stump as a target. I hit the stump's core so many times I was in danger of firing arrow-on-arrow and damaging the sleek hawk feathers on the ends.

"Nice," commented Panjor, as I went to tug each arrow from the rotted stump. "No wolf would stand a chance against you now."

"If I can reach my bow in time," I replied, as I sheathed the last arrow into my quiver. "I'm going to say two things to you, Panjor."

"Very well."

"One; you are the kindest man I have ever known."

"Why, thank you."

"Two; you are also the most irritating and annoying mentor that a hunter's apprentice could ever have."

Panjor grinned. "Ah, that's my style. But you've learned a lot from me; you'll say so yourself one day."

"Let's make today this one day; I've learned a lot from you in the eleven years I now have known you," I said, with the sweetest smile I could muster. I slung my bow over my shoulder and said more sincerely, "One day I'll find a better way to repay you, Panjor."

Panjor looked interested. "What did you have in mind?"

I shrugged. "Don't know, and right now, I don't care. I'm going to bed. You had _better_ be up at sunrise tomorrow, and you had better be here at the edge of Rorikstead, or else I'm going to hunt for you. I think we both know the outcome of one of my hunts."

"Of course. No need to worry, I'll be there. Now head on inside; I think your family's waiting to celebrate the once-again-successful harvest with you in your cottage."

I glanced at Panjor. "What about you?"

"I think I'll pass," Panjor said apologetically. "I'll do a spot of night-hunting, I think. But no fear, I'll be at the edge of town tomorrow."

Odd. As I turned my tail for home and set off back up the road, I swear that I saw a glimmer of fear gleam for a moment in Panjor's eyes. I decided as I reached the door that I must have imagined it.


	6. Chapter 5 - The Parting

Chapter Five

Greenspring Hollow was a very long walk from Rorikstead to the grove. It took half a day's solid walking to even reach the place. No wonder Panjor wanted to leave so early.

But it was now early-afternoon and we could both see the hollow. Mist had fallen and so it concealed us well, and my heart was hammering in my chest so loudly I was afraid that the bear was going to hear the thumping and come stumbling out of the mist towards us to investigate. But Panjor was completely unfazed; he had killed bears before, after all.

"The bear is hunting," he said to me. "Rather like us."

"Do you know how long bears hunt for?"

"Most of the day," responded Panjor. "They return to their lairs each evening. And so that is when we strike." He turned and gazed seriously at me. I knew this was no time for joking around. "We must be very cautious. We must blend in with our surroundings. An inexperienced hunter will walk up to the bear's lair and lay the trap and walk away again. But the inexperienced hunter will soon meet his end if he tries to bite off more than he can chew."

Another pearl of wisdom.

"Bears make up for what they lack in sight with their nose," Panjor continued softly. "They have sharper senses of smell than wolves. They can easily track you if you leave your scent behind. The skilled hunter is invisible. We make our scent match that of the environment and lay the trap skillfully without detection."

"So...effectively, you want me to smell of grass?" I asked.

"Exactly like grass, and heather," agreed Panjor. "The mist will help conceal you, but it will more hide you with sight than smell." He grabbed a fistful of grass and earth from the ground and rubbed it over his skin until he looked absolutely filthy, as if he had taken a very bad tumble down a hill. "That is why hunters often rub dirt on their face; you'd be surprised at how much sweat comes out through the pores," Panjor added, as he dabbled muck around his cheeks.

I stifled a snicker.

"You next." Without warning Panjor ducked down and splattered my own face and most of my hair with dirt.

I let out a startled gasp and scrambled away from him, and snapped, "Are you insane?"

"Maybe." Panjor let out a small smile. "But unless you want the bear to discover you and promptly have you for lunch, you're going to have to get down and dirty."

"I bet you were just waiting all this time to do this to me," I growled, as I disdainfully wiped some grass off my face. But I obliged. I rubbed grass over my clothes and moccasins and my bare arms and hands and my face, and even had the sense to interweave heather in my hair, until I was thoroughly dirty myself. Panjor grinned.

"You look monstrous," he said, by way of compliment.

"I hope that you're right in this," I scowled. "If you're so much as playing with me on this one..."

"I'm not." Now Panjor's face was grey and earnest again. "Trust me. Now, here's the trap." He pushed the closed bear trap over to me and I took the heavy and foreboding iron trap. "You know what to do. Make me proud."

_Make me proud_. He always said that to me when I was going to try something new and possibly dangerous. He said that to me when I went and did my assessment, a year ago, as means of wishing me luck. He said that to me when I was a younger apprentice, just learning how to shoot. And now he said that to me now. I gritted my teeth and stole out into the mist, carrying my bear trap. I knew the procedure; find the best place to put the trap, wind it, and then get out before my scent broke through.

Apprehension twisted my stomach into knots. I forced it down; this is what I had trained to do, for a whole year. I was not going to fail. _I will not fail_. I kept thinking this over and over in my mind as I scanned the Hollow. It was a shambles; the place used to be some sort of hideout for a travelling merchant but it was long abandoned. I could even see a broken tanning rack, pressed up against the stone, and a battered chest, and various broken items—cups, cutlery, scraps of fabric—scattered all over the place, and roughly heaped in one area, where I assumed the bear had tried to make a nest.

And then I found a good spot; near the nest, in a small dip in the ground, where the bear obviously walked a lot. I set down the trap, and with shaking fingers, I began to wind it up.

I knew that Panjor was watching me this time and I wanted to do well. No mistakes, Aela. No mistakes.

I listened intently as I carefully wound the trap. It always took some minutes, though really experienced hunters like Panjor could wind up a bear trap in less than a minute. I thought I heard something rustle. No; my imagination. Or the wind. Keep winding, keep winding...

Was that a snort? No; don't think that way. Keep winding.

And then the bear trap was set. I sighed with relief, and quietly rose to my feet. I listened for a moment, afraid that the bear was suddenly going to appear. But it didn't. Quickly, I stole back through the mist, and found Panjor again, crouched beneath the heather. He was smiling.

"Well done," he praised me.

"Did I make you proud?" I asked, with a grin.

"Oh, I'd say yes," replied Panjor, nodding. "Now, we need to make ourselves scarce, until the bear is caught."

I stared at him. "That's all for today?" I asked incredulously.

"For now," replied Panjor. "But we'll come and check the bear trap tomorrow, when the bear will have been caught and will have weakened itself. However, I think we'll do some hunting on the way back to Rorikstead." Seeing my disappointed face, Panjor grinned and remarked, "Oh, don't you worry, lass. You'll have your bear to claim tomorrow. What's more—I'll even let you kill it."

"That wasn't your original intention?" I asked.

"Well...maybe." A crafty glint came into Panjor's eyes. "Just in case you might not be able to handle it. I mean, if a few _wolves_ can get you bad..."

I kicked Panjor in the leg.

* * *

We set out the very next morning to the Hollow. As we drew near, I could hear the anguished and pained cries of an animal, and the heavy snorting that constantly followed.

"The bear?" I breathed.

Panjor nodded. "Caught like a rat."

We approached the hollow. There was no mist. We could see the bear clearly, and my eyes widened in awe. I had never seen an adult bear before, only heard of them from Panjor and felt their fur, but to actually see one, caught in a trap, its foot twisted in the closed iron jaws and incredibly bloody, I felt a shiver of awe creep through me. It was a grizzly, all right—full grown, eyes black with rage and pain, gigantic jaws certainly capable of cracking bone, absolutely enormous body that was nothing but nine-hundred-pound muscle and thick, shaggy brown-black fur.

It saw us and turned its enormous grizzled head towards us and roared in defiance, but it couldn't move.

"End its suffering," said Panjor.

But I hesitated. This enormous creature that was once wild and free was now caught, trapped, bleeding and defenseless. It looked at me with rage and defiance but I could see fear glittering in the black eyes as well. It was afraid of me, and I was starting to feel an emotion I had never experienced once in my life before, at least not to animals: compassion.

How could I kill the bear, when it stared at me, frightened, terrified, its life in my hands? But what was up with _me?_ Why was I thinking like this? I had taken the lives of animals so many times before that it had barely mattered to me. I stalked them and hunted them and set traps for them, and in the end I killed them, but none of them had ever known what was coming.

This bear did know, though. This gigantic creature, once a proud, roaming animal of Skyrim, a feared predator and ruler of a great territory, perhaps, was now huddled in the trap, staring at me with wide frightened eyes. Never before had I slain an animal that knew what was to come. Who looked into the eyes of its killer and expected no mercy, and hoping it was swift.

But that was the same feeling I had had when I was attacked by the wolves. Self-consciously, I glanced at the jagged white scars on my arm that were the only memory of the wolf incident. I had looked into their eyes and seen death. They were remorseless killers. They would have most certainly torn me apart if Panjor hadn't saved me.

Panjor was still watching me. I glanced at him, and realized in a flash that he had expected this all along.

"End his pain," he said softly. "It's all you can do now."

I shakily nodded. I drew my bow. The bear roared and struggled harder, deepening its wounds, the blood coursing more freely. For some moments it struggled with the same desperate, bellowing in its agony, until, with a final roar, it sank to its side, too tired to move, eyes glazed with exhaustion.

_End his pain,_ I told himself, as I drew an arrow. _End his pain._ I knocked the arrow to the bowstring. _End his pain._ I drew the bowstring back, and took aim.

And then the bear was dead. One last breath escaped its body. It would move no more.

I lowered the bow. I had killed my first bear. I should be proud of myself. Panjor should be telling me that I had probably aimed for its eye as striking the skull, I could have damaged the arrowhead. Telling me that I should hurry up and grab my skinning knife.

Instead, Panjor touched my shoulder.

"Only cruel hunters will kill without thought," he said to me. "And you were feeling remorse. An emotion that is commonly felt by apprentices when their trapped quarries see them and look up at them, and beg."

I nodded. My throat was closed up. The bear was dead. I should be proud. Instead I just felt guilt.

"Aela," said Panjor. "You ended his pain. The bear hunts now in a better place." He gestured to the sky. "The Hunting Grounds. Where all the animal spirits go in death."

He walked forward towards the dead bear. I followed him.

"When you feel remorse, after you kill an animal, it eases the pain of guilt by blessing its spirit on its way," said Panjor. He knelt down beside the dead bear, and tugged the arrow from the skull, and handed it back to me. I crouched beside him and wiped the arrowhead senselessly on the grass.

"A blessing?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Aela. You can send the bear's spirit on its way, if you want."

"But I don't know what to say."

"Then listen." Panjor rested his hand lightly on the bear and murmured, "May the Father of Manbeasts welcome you to the Hunting Grounds, son of the wild. May you run alongside hunters and find good kills for all eternity, and never know pain again."

I glanced at Panjor. "The Father of Manbeasts?"

"The Daedric Lord, Hircine, is the Prince of the Hunt," explained Panjor. "His domain is a place in Oblivion called the Hunting Grounds. Where all those who serve Hircine in life can hunt alongside him in death, for eternity."

I frowned quizzically at Panjor. "Do you serve Hircine?"

Panjor shrugged. "Never officially. I don't have Hircine mutter in my ear and I'm not his servant. But he watches all hunters with some level of interest, and if we make a particularly fine kill, he appears in spectral form of the beast we just slew, and earn his favour."

"And you seek to earn his favour?"

"No. I'm happy being a solo hunter. And a teacher, of course."

And then our talk died down. Panjor unwound the trap from around the bear's paw, and then let me skin the dead creature; he guided my hand and murmured in my ear the method, but he didn't do it himself. This I appreciated; I was always more of a kinesthetic learner, one who learned best by doing rather than by watching others do.

Together, we worked as we took the majestic hide from the beast. When at last it was done, and we had covered the bear's corpse with branches and bracken, Panjor turned to me and said, "I'll say this now in case I forget later on; congratulations. You've shaped into a brilliant huntress."

I smiled. "Calling me a huntress now, are you?"

"Yes. There's very little more that I can teach you. The only thing left to teach you about are the tracks of the more experienced creatures. It'll probably take you another year of learning, to master the final tracks. And then..."

My smile faded. "Then what?"

Obvious, isn't it? I said to myself. Panjor leaves.

The thought of him leaving my life struck me hard in the chest. He had been my mentor for eleven years so far. Soon he'll have been my mentor for twelve. And then...after that, what next? What would happen next in life, when I was eighteen, a woman, ready to leave home and find her own fortune?

"After me, then you're on your own, a full-trained huntress trained only by the best," said Panjor, adding a smile as if to reassure me. "At least you won't have your nagging tutor anymore."

I smiled in response. "Yes, that's a bright side to it."

"But as a souvenir, I suggest that you keep your bear hide."

I stared at him with surprise. "Really?"

"Why not? It's your first, a souvenir, and will make a lovely living-room rug for your family," said Panjor. He dropped a small pouch of septims into my hands as well and added, "And those are for the animal skins that I last took to the market. Half, as always."

I pocketed it. "Thanks."

He straightened. "No worries. Now let's get going. We'll try to make it back to Rorikstead before evening." And he looked carefully at me as he added, "And tell you what; if there's little trouble at home, then I'll take you on one of my journeys, locally, into Falkreath, perhaps."

I brightened. "Really?"

"Is that going to be your new favourite word?" Panjor teased. "I'm not joking. But as long as your parents don't need you more at home than they need you out hunting venison." His face became concerned. "How's your father coping with his rockjoint?"

"Not well," I admitted. "Jouane's doing his best. He's saved lives before; he'll save Father's."

"And your brothers?"

"Lokir had a fight with Ulfgar recently. They're not speaking to each other. They take turn feeding the goats, but it's just another sibling feud that'll blow itself out," I replied. Hopefully. Lokir and Ulfgar could be reckless at the best of times, but this time...well, it was stranger than other times. They seemed almost furious at each other. They almost never were for long, though. I sighed and smiled reassuringly at my mentor. "But it feels good to finally get out and do what I do best."

Panjor smiled. "It feels good to get out with you as well, Aela. I'll miss you when the time comes for us to part."

"As will I." I didn't really want to think about Panjor leaving me. But at the same time I would be proud to see him go. I had learned all he could teach me. I would be a true huntress then. And I had already made my decision to leave Rorikstead as soon as that happened.

Where I would exactly go, I'm not sure. But anywhere far away from the dreary farm community sounded good to me.

* * *

It's strange how quickly time can fly. But before I really realized it, it was Last Seed, and I was eighteen. The last month of summer was drawing to a close now and it wouldn't be long before the Heartfire harvest began. It's also been two months since Father died.

He died very peacefully. Just passed to Sovngarde in his sleep. The rockjoint overwhelmed him in the end. I'm grateful to Jouane; he did all he could for him. But my mother's been quite distressed since his death. She gets too frustrated with my brothers at times. Sometimes, she feels ill, and can't go out to work. The past two months have been busy and stressful times for me; I've had to do more work on the farm than usual, and Lokir and Ulfgar don't exactly help.

They're fifteen and sixteen now. Their birthdays are both in Rain's Hand, only a week or two apart. You'd think that being so alike, they'd get along. They'd rally together and help the family at this time, and nurse our mother. But no; they've been more troublesome than ever before. And sometimes I just can't handle the stress at home and I have to go hunting with Panjor. It's good to hunt with him, sniping at each other all the way until we kill a deer, and then we resume sniping. But mostly I have to go alone.

I don't mind; I've always been a solitary one. And it left me free to think to myself. Plus, well, I'm a full-fledged huntress now. Almost. Panjor says he'll give me one final assessment, and then he'll leave. I'll be on my own for good that time.

I've learned well from him. The months have flown by. He's even kept to his promise and taken me once to Falkreath. This was before Father died, and we travelled in First Seed. The forest was amazing; everything was so vibrant and lush and green, and there was life everywhere. I spent a few nights in Falkreath Hold, even slept in the wilderness; at night all of the torchbugs would come out and the place would look utterly magical.

In my visit to Falkreath I even uncovered the tracks of a spriggan. They looked almost exactly the way I had learned them to be. I considered following the tracks to where the spriggan was at, but Panjor had advised against it. Spriggans had a tendancy to hide in the trees, and they disliked hunters quite a lot. Plus, he had discovered an elk's trail and suggested we track that down instead.

But I had nearly completely finished my training. I could do everything masterfully. All that left was the final assessment—what it was, exactly, I was unsure. Panjor was away on one of his trips again; he said that he wasn't sure when he'd be back, so he suggested that I try and do as much hunting as I could in that time.

So here I was, in the Whiterun prairie once again. For hours I had been following the tracks of a male elk. And now I saw him, standing amongst a cluster of nettles, grazing heartily. The gigantic antlers were my main prize. He was healthy and full-grown and utterly magnificent, and I kept myself low to the ground, my bow poised and ready to end his life as swiftly and as painlessly as possible.

I inched forward one more step. I let my foot fall slowly, so as not to disturb the bracken. I raised the bow a little more. The silver-headed arrows Panjor had given me last year had lasted me exceptionally well, barely tarnished at all, though the feathers were a little worn here and there, the silver not quite as bright. I aimed for the elk's head. When he next raised his head, I would fire. He raised his head every moment or so, to check for danger.

Now I watched as he lifted that magnificent antlered head from the nettles, still chewing the cud, ears pricked, eyes scanning the environment that surrounded him. He was clever, I conceded, as I took aim. Very clever, very wise, to always be alert. But he wasn't alert enough.

The arrow whistled through the air silently. It met its mark. The elk fell.

Quickly I sprang out from the bracken, slinging my bow over my shoulder and drawing my skinning knife. I tugged the arrow from the elk's throat and murmured respectfully to it, "May the Father of Manbeasts welcome you to the Hunting Grounds, son of the wild. May you run alongside hunters and find good kills for all eternity, and never know pain again." I said this to all my kills now, regardless how I killed them. With my parting-blessing done, I began to skin the elk. By now I was confident, barely needing to think. Swiftly I worked until the elk's hide was folded neatly at my side. I removed the fine antlers and inspected them. A near-perfect match that would undoubtedly fetch a good price at the market.

"Well done."

I glanced over my shoulder in surprise. There stood Panjor. He was smiling.

"I thought you were on a journey," I said, gathering up the pelt and the antlers beneath my arms and straightening. "Tell me why you're still here."

"I was on a journey. But it didn't last long." Panjor's smile widened. "And I'm here to tell you that you passed your assessment. With flying colours."

It took me a moment to realize exactly what he said. And when I did realize...

"I'm...I'm finished?" I asked, barely able to believe it.

Twelve years of training. Twelve years of hardship, of laughter, of learning, of annoyance, of frustration, of thrill and of pride. And this was it. This was the end. I was done.

Panjor took a few steps towards me and said, "You're finished. Your training is complete."

"But...why didn't you just tell me that the assessment was exactly the same as the one I took when I was sixteen?" I demanded, trying to find something to be frustrated about.

"Simple. I didn't want to tell you, until after you'd done it. If I had told you beforehand, you would have worried, as you did when you were sixteen," said Panjor sincerely. His words always seemed to make perfect sense when he spoke them sincerely, even if they were completely confusing to me. "And you passed. You slew the elk better than I could have, and removed the skin with the grace of one much older and more experienced. Flawlessly. This assessment was a test of your confidence. And confidence is a hunter's surest weapon."

I smiled. That was the very first pearl of wisdom I had learned.

"You've grown up," said Panjor. "You've come through. You're a huntress now, Aela."

Was I? I was dazed. And yet...I was proud. I had done it. I was a huntress now, I had completed my training. I knew how to hunt any animal in Skyrim. "All thanks to you," I added.

Panjor's smile faded, and a solemn look came over his face. "You realize that this is the last time I ever speak to you mentor-to-apprentice?"

Sorrow clenched at my heart. I looked down.

"Oh, don't be sad," said Panjor, with a snort. "I thought you were looking forward to that day when I was finally going to leave you."

"So was I," I said, with a feeble attempt at rudeness.

But then my mind drifted, to the happy carefree hours of when Panjor and I trained together, of him always chastising me for every tiny mistake I made, and me snapping back at him, and then having a lengthy argument until the prize came into shooting distance, and we would both pretend that the argument had mysteriously never happened. At Panjor's coy grins he gave me at my obvious irritation. At the concern that darkened his face when I had been attacked by wolves, and nursing me back to health, and training me patiently once again. At selling the pelts and antlers I gathered in the other Holds and bringing me a cut of the spoils.

And the gifts. I'll never forget the gifts.

Panjor suddenly smiled, very broadly, as if he had read my mind. "I've got one more present for you, Aela, before I part."

I looked up. "Another?"

"I don't think that simple clothes are the most appropriate getup for a huntress such as yourself." He presented me with a package which I had not noticed earlier. It was large, bulky, and wrapped in brown paper. I took it, and tore the paper open.

The sun caught on steel. I froze.

Then, slowly, I knelt down, and put the package on the ground, and lifted up the first piece of armour in the package. It was truly magnificent. Steel plating covered light green cloth that would stretch down my slender arms and hug against my body. The metal was heavy but not so much that I would be greatly encumbered by it.

"Panjor..." I whispered, unsure what to say.

"Genuine Ancient Nord armour," smiled Panjor. "I got it off cheaply."

I froze. Then I narrowed my eyes at Panjor. "You don't say..."

"Yeah. But it was pretty undamaged," said Panjor. "I took it to the smithy in Whiterun and had the armour set fixed up, and improved. It's just as good as any other armour, if not better. This steel—" he rapped lightly on the metal "—is genuine, aged, and therefore flexible, more so when it's been improved with normal iron. And I think, to be honest, it will suit you."

I wasn't overly keen to put on the armour, but it did look nice. And I did think that perhaps it would suit me. Maybe bring out the silver in my eyes. "I'll put it on in the privacy of my own cottage," I said to Panjor, putting the armour down. "And I'm guessing that this is what your most recent journey was for?"

Panjor grinned. "You're sharp as a blade, lass. You don't miss a thing. Speaking of which, there's one more gift I must give to you."

I was curious. "What is it?"

Panjor took out a small pottle that had been attached to his belt. He opened it, and I saw that inside was a deep green liquid, the colour of dark emeralds, of ferns in the shadow. He dipped his fingers into the mixture, and told me to stand still. He then put the pottle down and approached me, and brushed the hair out of my face. Gently, he smeared the paint onto my face, in three big diagonal stripes.

"This is evergreen warpaint," said Panjor, when I had opened my eyes. "The paint will never come off. But it is the mark of the hunter. Of the huntress, I should say."

I gently touched the soft stickiness on my face. When I took my fingers away, the paint wasn't stuck to the fingertips. But I felt the cool green paint settle into my skin like coloured scars. "Does this symbolize the end of my apprenticeship?" I asked softly.

"Yes." Panjor sounded oddly emotional as he replaced the pottle back in his pocket. "For a long time I've thought of the mark of the hunter that is to be on your face. But then I decided...stripes. Three great stripes, to stand for the three wolves who attacked you. And what you pulled through."

For the first time, I wasn't annoyed he had mentioned the wolves.

"May you find fair hunting wherever you tread, Aela."

"You...you too, Panjor. And...thank you." Before I could stop myself, I had pulled Panjor into a tight embrace. I stepped back and looked into his eyes and said, "Thank you for everything. And I'm being serious this time. You've shaped me into the huntress I am today. I'll always be grateful to you."

"You've been quite the apprentice. I've enjoyed teaching you." Panjor's eyes sparkled. "Farewell, Aela."

"Farewell, Panjor."

It was almost like my old mentor was heading off on one of his journeys again. Except this time, watching him stride back across Whiterun Hold was the hardest thing I had ever done. Panjor was like a brother to me; a father, even. And now he was gone, and most likely, I wasn't going to see him again.

But I had no need of him anymore. I was a huntress now. I could take care of myself.

I bent down, and gathered up my new armour, tucked the elk skin beneath my arm, balanced the antlers on top of the armour. And then, with slow, sad steps, I began the walk back to Rorikstead.


	7. Chapter 6 - Leaving the Past

Chapter Six

Everything felt really different since Panjor left. I had a difficult time, I discovered, fitting in with the simple life in Rorikstead. It felt odd, to be a huntress amongst these sheep-like farmers in the town.

Last Seed began to slip away, and the harvest dawned—a prospect I didn't look forward to. I had just become a huntress. I was a feisty woman, one who needed to let out her energy hunting. To stand in the fields again, ploughing and digging like a common farmhand, was completely outrageous for me.

That same bitterness I felt last year rose in my throat whenever someone mentioned the harvest. I was not going to stay behind like a farmer and plough the corn. And yet...I was reluctant to leave my mother. She was recovering since Father's death but still frail. Sometimes she didn't leave the house at all. And who would provide the family with meat for their dinners?

Lokir and Ulfgar were resentful. They felt as if they were doing all the dirty work, always cutting corn and digging in the ground and weeding. But if they saw the kind of work I did...I got my hands bloody every single day. Very bloody. Dirt you can at least wash off but blood...it sticks. And it smells. Even so, I at least enjoyed hunting. Hunting was my life now, entirely.

Sometimes I walk in on my brothers speaking together, saying that they were going to run away and find their own fortunes. They always stopped when I neared them, though. Sometimes, I felt I barely knew my brothers anymore. When was the last time we had even spoken in a friendly relaxed way towards one another?

That had been another thing I had loved about Panjor. He was like the older brother I never had, stern and strict as a mentor should be, but his teasing and irritating side came out far more often. I could snap and snipe and argue with him and we'd still be good friends. And we were good friends. We had a strong bond. Now the bond was severed, and once again, I was alone. I had learned then that it was unwise to make too-close friends; they only left, and gave you a hollow feeling in your gut, when you had to watch them walk away for the last time.

And Lokir and Ulfgar were troublemakers.

A week before the harvest was due to begin, I heard angry shouting from next door when I was returning from a hunt. I dropped the goat hide and meat I had been carrying and hurried to Lemkil's place to find the young man having a blazing argument with my brothers, shouting about stolen eggs.

"Why the hell would we steal your eggs, you idiot?" snapped Ulfgar.

"Why should I believe the words of thieves?" roared Lemkil in response. Jabbing an angry finger at Ulfgar and Lokir he shouted, "You two are always up to trouble, irritating the townsfolk, moaning about your chores and driving your poor mother up the wall! You'd be better off away from Rorikstead!"

"What's going on?" I interrupted.

The three men glanced at me. Then, they stared at me; I supposed I looked impressive. Panjor's final gift to me, the wonderfully-light and strong Ancient Nord armour (which fortunately didn't feel disgusting despite where it came from), I now wore whenever I went out to hunt. My auburn hair was pushed back over my shoulders, and the three streaks of dark green warpaint gave my face a hardened, battle-born look. My bow and quiver of arrows were slung over my shoulder and my skinning knife at my hip.

But the spellbound silence I held them in with my appearance was pitifully brief.

"Your two good-for-nothing brothers have taken the eggs from our chicken hutch and they refuse to pay for it!" Lemkil snarled in response to my question.

Lokir looked outraged. "You doddering, stupid—"

"Shut it," I snapped, completely fed up with my brothers. I had heard so many similar complaints from the other neighbours in town that I doubted Lokir and Ulfgar were innocent in this case. But I didn't want to favour Lemkil too much. The nasty-mouthed man often overreacted to a lot of things. Turning back to Lemkil, I said, "Are you certain that Lokir and Ulfgar took the eggs? Did you find any evidence?"

"Evidence!?" spluttered Lemkil. He jabbed his finger at my brothers again and bellowed, "There's your evidence! Your two brothers haven't said a decent word that's rung with some truth in years! And now they claim to be _innocent_." He sneered the word _innocent_ until it sounded like something very repulsive and disgusting.

Ulfgar snorted. "Lemkil's an idiot. We haven't stolen anything from his precious hen hutch!"

"All right, all right," I said authoritatively, seeing Lemkil's face harden with anger. "Lemkil, show me your chicken hutch. Whatever stole from your chicken hutch will have left traces."

My brothers turned to leave, as though dismissed, but I turned sharply to them and snapped, "You two. Stay here."

Lokir stared at me as if I had grown an extra head. "But..." he began.

"Stay here," I repeated firmly. Then I followed Lemkir.

He led me to the chicken hutch and pointed angrily at the lean-to where the hens made their nests. "There," he snapped in my face. "Look! Not one bloody egg!"

The nests were empty. I stepped over the low fence and into the hutch. The chickens squawked and flapped out of my way. I crouched down in the dusted area around the lean-to and discovered markings, all right. Footprints. My brothers'.

Damn; I had been hoping a fox had stolen away the eggs.

I knew that Lemkil was still watching me. Under the pretence I was gently shifting the dust to read the tracks better, I quickly shaped the light pawprints of a fox scattered loosely around the lean-to. Then I straightened up.

"Fox, not boys," I reported, gesturing to my fake tracks. "A fox took your eggs."

Lemkil scowled. "Since when have foxes stolen eggs?"

"How should I know? That's what the ground says to me," I challenged, lying quite easily. I stepped over the fence, out of the chicken hutch. "Get yourself a watchdog next time, Lemkil, before you start accusing my brothers of theft," I warned him, walking quickly away from the hutch.

Lemkil's gaze could have melted ice. But so could have mine. My brothers were still near, and I thought I saw a flash of fear in Lokir's eyes for a moment. I gestured for them to follow me and I took them around the farmhouse.

In the shelter there I turned angrily on them and snapped, "I covered for you this once. But I saw your footprints in the dust."

Ulfgar scowled but said nothing. Nor, sensibly, did Lokir.

"I defended you because you were my brothers, and because it will stress Mother out if she hears of this," I hissed to them, letting my anger show. "But I am a huntress. You should have realized that before you began to take to thieving from the people of Rorikstead."

I stared deeply into their eyes. "Why? Why are you stealing?"

"Because we want to learn to provide for ourselves," snapped Ulfgar, though he had the sense to keep his voice low, and his voice was hardened with anger. "We're sick of being reliant on you, on Mother and Father... we're independent. We need to learn to survive."

"We don't want to be stuck in this town any more than you do," Lokir added mutinously. "We've seen the way you look out over the horizon, Aela. You grimace at the very mention of the Heartfire harvest." He took an aggressive step forward towards me. "You think that we enjoy the harvest? We hate it! The endless ploughing, the endless chores and commands...that's not what we want our lives to be like, a series of chore after chore after chore!"

I frowned. "So you want to leave Rorikstead as well, do you?"

"Obviously; you've heard us, and don't pretend you haven't," said Ulfgar. "We're not as old as you. But I'm sixteen. I'm old enough to leave home. And together—" he indicated Lokir "—we can survive."

"Like animals," I said, letting my contempt come through. "You want to live like animals, stealing from others, causing trouble, and earning nothing but spurn and hate."

Lokir's face hardened. "We've been getting that all our lives. It won't make any difference."

"No; Mother loves you with all her heart, and Father loved you as much as any parent could," I said to them, though I was shocked at what they had said. "But you rejected their love. You decided to cause trouble instead, expecting that to earn you respect. But you'll discover that nobody likes having their things stolen, particularly by a pair of stupid little boys who think they know better!"

"Us, stupid? Little?" Ulfgar's voice dropped into an ice-cold whisper. I could now feel hatred coming from his voice. "No; we're not your little brothers anymore, Aela. You think you're so special, so high above the rest of us, because you know how to hunt. You think you're better than me and Lokir because you can look after yourself. You don't know what it's like to be truly alone; everyone in Rorikstead has always respected you because you face dangers that none of them face in their lives, and you bring back the meat for the households and get paid for it! You've never felt unloved, not once. When you came back nearly dead everyone was terrified for _you!_ Your friend _Panjor_ never once left your side!" He said my mentor's name in the same sneering way Lemkil had said _innocent_, and suddenly, fury flashed in my mind.

"You caused the spurn on yourselves," I spat. Ulfgar took a few steps backward in the wake of the fury in my voice. "You thought that nobody ever loved you, and so you took to thieving. You thought that was the way to make a living. You choose to desert your mother under the thought that she ignores you, and go behind her back to cause strife for the town. Everyone helps each other in Rorikstead. I thought you would have realized that by now. But you refuse to open your eyes."

I stepped back from them as though they had turned into something vile and repulsive. "I never imagined my own brothers to turn out the way that they have now," I said to them. "I defended you from your crime once. You were my brothers. But if I ever hear shouting from the houses again, and I come to investigate the scene of the crime, I can promise both of you that I am not going to hesitate telling the truth."

I held their gazes for a moment. In that split second that we stared at each other, I realized that not only had I lost Panjor, I had lost my brothers. Lokir and Ulfgar weren't my kin anymore. Not to me. The love for each other had been dying between us, completely unnoticed to me, for years; today was the day when I finally saw the grave that contained it.

Then I turned and walked away, heading back to where I had dropped my goat skin and meat earlier. I really was alone now, I told myself. Panjor was gone. My brothers were gone. Father was gone. And my mother...well, she was still too frail to be of much help to me. I didn't want to give her more troubles. She was only just recovering from her grief.

Over the passing days I grew more restless, more moody. My brothers, however, didn't steal, but they didn't give me lovely looks. I kept hunting. I left early each morning and returned late each night, drilling myself as hard as I could go, scouring the plains for any animal. Shooting down birds from the skies, fishing in the streams, and following the tracks of deer and elk and rabbit, it kept my mind preoccupied. But each night I found myself watching the east horizon, and wondering...what would the hunting be like beyond the small mountain?

The small mountain seemed to be a kind of border for me, a border I never dare to cross. To cross it, I felt, would mean leaving Rorikstead behind forever. I never drew within half a mile of it in my hunting. But each day, I found myself edging just a little closer towards it. A metre, two metres, five, ten. My lust for exploration and of leaving behind Rorikstead grew. And I always felt angry when I returned to the town. Angry that these farmers were so content with their simpleton lives.

The Heartfire harvest was coming up soon. Summer had turned into early autumn. But I had promised myself that I was not going to take a part in the harvest this year. I would be gone by then.

It had been weeks since Panjor left. I was an independent huntress. I had successfully provided my family with meat for the table. And now it was time for me to leave. I couldn't stay in Rorikstead. Not anymore.

I realized this when it was a particularly beautiful sunset over the Hold. It was only a few days before the harvest was due to begin. Everything was washed in a fine golden light. And as I looked out over the Hold, I realized...out there, in the wild, was my true home. Not Rorikstead. In that town I was a she-wolf who was caged. In the wild, I was a she-wolf who ran and who hunted, who was completely free.

The hunting, I told myself, would be finer over the mountain.

My decision was settled in my mind that night, as my family and I shared a sullen dinner together. It was only after they retired to bed that I decided to leave. It was best for me to slip away, unnoticed, to be there one moment and disappear the next. A good huntress never lets herself be discovered. And she doesn't leave a trail behind her for others to follow.

So I rose from where I lay on my bed and found my knapsack and packed a few things. A few changes of clothes, all my savings, my comb, and plenty of travelling food. I changed into my armour and geared myself up, slinging the quiver over my shoulder, the bow over that. I checked my skinning knife was at my side. Then I found a piece of parchment and quickly I wrote a message to my family, saying that I was leaving, and that I wished them luck in the harvest.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel regretful when I stepped out of my cottage one last time. Mother was a strong woman, and many respected her; they'd look after her, if Lokir and Ulfgar wouldn't. And the town was empty, save for the few guards, who were patrolling the streets.

I headed to the road and began to walk along it, away from Rorikstead. Past the vegetable garden. Past the other houses. And then...out there, I saw, outlined faintly in the moonshine, was the wilderness. Waiting for me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scents deeply, and at the road where it veered to the right and disappeared from view from the people of Rorikstead, I stopped, and looked out at the moonwashed world that awaited me.

I felt no regret, no remorse. This was my adventure. My time as a farmhand was over. I was a huntress. And I was on my own now. Ready to find my own way in life.

I didn't look back at Rorikstead as I set off down the road, still and silent and empty. In the depths of my heart, I hoped that the path I had chosen for myself would be the right one.

* * *

**Author's Note: Anyone thinking how sadly ironic it is that Lokir dies a thief?**

**As always, please review-feel free to post suggestions as to what could happen next  
**


	8. Chapter 7 - Whiterun

Chapter Seven

It was midday by the time I reached Whiterun. I had journeyed some way from Rorikstead in the night, found somewhere to sleep, and then cleared my makeshift campsite and continued along the road in the early morning. Rorikstead was now far behind me.

But I had never expected Whiterun to be so...well, _big_.

Forget big. It was _huge_.

Farms about twice as large as the farms I had known back home surrounded Whiterun. Smoke curled from the houses, and giant windmills spun. More columns of smoke rose from over the walls of Whiterun and floated up into a clear blue sky. Up at the very top of the city was the palace, Dragonsreach. It was far bigger than how I ever imagined it described, a towering titan of a building that loomed protectively over the city.

I walked slowly along the road towards the tall gates. The city was even impressive enough to have its own stables; as I turned idly towards the big stalls, I could see several horses snorting restlessly within, and another few grazed on the small paddock beside the stablemaster's house. An enormous cart pulled by a large bay horse stood patiently to one side of the road, the driver of the cart slouched lazily in the seat. He glanced towards me.

"Need a ride?" he called.

"Uh...no, thanks. I meant to come to Whiterun, actually."

The young man shrugged. "Suit yourself. Haven't seen you around here before, girl. You a newcomer?"

"Yeah," I replied, slowly approaching the cart now, though I was a little insulted he had called me 'girl'.

The cart driver sat up a little more and leaned over me. "What's your name?"

"Aela the Huntress. You'd best remember it."

The man grinned. "Oho! A hunter, are you?"

"Huntress," I corrected, and deciding that this man had a memory like a dandelion.

"Fair enough," the cart driver agreed. "So, you've just come to Whiterun, the richest city in Skyrim." He waved a hand towards the big stone walls and added, "And by rich, I mean rich for business. The best trading hub in the province; and me, I see everyone who passes through, everyone who goes in and comes out and/or returns. But you, you look as if you're looking for work."

I paused and considered this. "Possibly," I said eventually. "Enough to get by on, I mean."

"Thinking on selling on as a mercenary?" asked the cart driver.

I frowned. "No. I'm a huntress. I don't do work that involves killing fellow human beings."

"Or not-so-human beings," the cart driver suggested.

"What do you mean?"

The cart driver shuddered with obvious distaste. "You've ever seen Elves before?" he asked. "Pointy-eared, slanted-eyed, coloured red or gold or both. They dwell in arts that we don't normally dwell in, like magic. They cast fancy spells and are sly and cunning like foxes. They even have ties to Daedra!" At this the cart driver looked quite afraid. "And as for the other ones, the Khajiit and Argonians, they're just...um...creepy."

I remembered my mother and father telling me about the other races of Tamriel. But I had never seen any of them but the Nords, my own kinsmen. "Are there Khajiit and Argonians in the city?" I asked.

"A few," replied the cart driver. "One, I know, resides with the Companions; y'know, those hired mercenaries up in Jorrvaskr?"

The Companions. I felt as if something had kicked me in the chest. Of course; this was their city, wasn't it? And I had never even realized. I felt pretty stupid, but I forced myself to listen as the knowledgeable cart driver went on.

"As for Khajiit, a caravan of those cats comes by every now and then," he continued. "The guards don't let them into the city, though. A pity; those Khajiit even have kids with them, if you could call them kids...more like kittens."

He looked at me closely and said, "So, where are you headed? Looking to stay permanently in Whiterun, kinswoman?"

"Maybe," I replied. "But I'll need to get into the city first."

"Should be easy for you, being a Nord and all," said the cart driver with a dismissive shrug. "Just go up to the guards, say who you are, and they'll let you in. Mind you, cause any trouble, and they'll haul you back out...or worse, throw you in the dungeons."

"I don't intend on causing trouble," I responded. _I've had enough trouble to last me a lifetime,_ I thought to myself. Hitching up my bow higher over my shoulders, I added, "Thanks on the history lesson."

The cart driver shrugged. "Uh...anytime. If you're looking for a place to stay, the Bannered Mare's got clean beds and good mead."

Obviously the Nord was a simpleton as well; he didn't understand sarcasm, as far as I was concerned. At least he knew enough about Whiterun itself to give me a heads-up. But I couldn't help feeling that though I had never met a Khajiit or an Argonian or even an Elf in that regard, wasn't that cart driver being a little too racist?

I followed the road that wound slowly upward towards the city gates. They were enormous, the big wooden doors lit by torches, fancy white cobblestone leading into the city. I couldn't help but feel awed by the sheer size and grandness of it all. Though the walls were old and crumbling, by the looks—moss grew on many of the cracked and uneven stone slabs—they were still enormous and formidable to outsiders.

"Halt, traveller," said one of the guards, stepping forward to interrogate me. I noticed that he was dressed in the same chainmail armour with the deep barley-gold cloak thrown over and the helmet that concealed his face, the same uniform that the guards in Rorikstead always wore. "What is your business here?"

"Uh, I wish to enter the city?" I offered.

"Obviously," said the guard. "But for what reason?"

I stared. "What right do you have to inquire my business?" I asked.

I was sure the guard frowned beneath the helmet. "Watch your tongue, traveller," he warned. "Or I'll haul you into Dragonsreach dungeon myself."

I glared at him. "For what? I haven't caused any trouble."

"Yeah? You've got that look about you," said the guard, in a nearly-sneering tone. "Outsiders always cause trouble if they stay for too long in Whiterun. You cause one speck of trouble, traveller, and I'll be sure to remember to visit you in prison."

I took one step forward and said coolly, "And the name isn't _traveller_, guard. It's Aela. Forget the name, and I'll have pleasure reminding you of it."

The guard must have looked affronted beneath the helmet. The hand momentarily hovered over the hilt of his sword, and then he simply grunted and swung around. "Fine; enter the city on your Gods-damned business," he snarled. "But don't think for one moment that you're welcome."

I looked at the guardsman, and wondered if all travellers had to put up with a similar attitude. "I intend to change that," I simply responded, and walked forward. Heaving the gates open, I entered Whiterun for the first time.

The place was much grander than Rorikstead, I knew at once. I walked over the footbridge that rose over a channel of water that seemed to come from higher up, and which flowed through a large grate in the far walls and disappeared outside. There were many streets, all leading uphill. Tall, impressive buildings, all built in a similar style, sat on either side of the cobblestone road that led straight down. At the other end I saw market stalls and guessed that over there was where most business was. Tall, fiery braziers burned along the roads, tiny embers whipping up into the air, caught by the curling greyish smoke. People walked up and down the well-worn lanes; I heard the laughter of a child somewhere in the city.

Directly to my right, I noticed, was a large shop that had an outdoor forge. The forge itself was complete; there was the hearth with a blower, and an anvil beside it, with a huge smelter barely a metre away from the forge, and a grindstone near the channel of water. Under the shade of the overhang was a workbench. Near the workbench, leaning against the side of the shop, was a tanning rack—not the broken one I had seen in Greenspring Hollow, but a proper one. A light brown animal skin was being hung out to dry.

I walked slowly down the street. Guards walked unconcernedly past me; clearly, not all guards were as inquisitive as the one who I had first spoken to. I headed towards the marketplace, just out of interest, because that was also where the Bannered Mare seemed to overlook the trading courtyard, and I was feeling thirsty for a mug of ale.

Townsfolk cried out their offerings to passers-by, attracting their attention. Two large stores, Faiwen's Alchemical Supplies and Windflight General Goods, stood side-by-side near the market stalls, facing a set of stairs that led up and beneath a stone arch to the next district of the city.

"Ahem...ah, may I help you, dear?"

I glanced forward abruptly. I hadn't even realized I was slowly walking past the market, my eyes trying to take in everything at once. I was nearing a stall where a mid-aged woman stood behind the counter, displaying a fine array of jewelry and weapons.

"May I help you, dear?" repeated the woman.

"Oh, ah, no, not really," I replied. "I'm not looking to buy. I'm just...looking."

The woman suddenly smiled in a friendly way to me. "A newcomer, are you? Come to pay pilgrimage to our fine Gildergreen? You have the look of a pilgrim."

I shook my head. "I'm just a huntress. I'm looking for work."

"A huntress, eh?" The woman looked at me. "Hmm. I s'ppose you can look like a huntress as well as a pilgrim."

My eyes drifted across the merchandise that she was selling. They gleamed and sparkled with exquisite make. Attracted by their beauty, I approached the stall and looked into the first display case. An array of gorgeous amulets and rings immediately presented themselves to me behind the sheet of glass.

"These are incredible," I said, by ways of compliment. "Where do you find these?"

The woman chuckled. "Find 'em? No, dear; my husband makes them. Up in the Skyforge just above Jorrvaskr."

"You mean...Eorlund Gray-Mane?"

The woman nodded. "The name's Fralia, dear girl; Fralia Gray-Mane. Wife of the best blacksmith in Skyrim." She extended a hand and I shook it.

"Aela the Huntress," I replied.

"Feel free to browse," Fralia encouraged. "You look like you could use a new bow. I don't have one on hand, but if you give me a special request, I can have Eorlund forge one for you."

I glanced back up at her, having looked down to examine a bronze necklace with a light green emerald engraved in the middle. "Oh, I couldn't do that," I said, one hand lightly touching the worn bowstring that slung over my chest. "I...I don't have much money."

I only had a hundred and seventy or eighty septims. I was pretty sure that the money I had was nowhere near enough to pay for a new bow.

"Oh dear, such a shame," said Fralia. "So, if you're not a pilgrim coming to the Gildergreen, what are you here for, dear?"

She didn't sound like the inquisitive guard at the gates, so I responded. "I've been thinking of looking for work. If anyone wants me to hunt down a certain animal, or find a certain ingredient in the wilds...I can do that."

"A mercenary, hmm?" Fralia guessed.

"No, I wouldn't call myself a mercenary. I'm a huntress."

"Pity," said Fralia. "Those Companions up in Jorrvaskr are always looking for new recruits, so Eorlund tells me." She chuckled. "My sons Avulstein and Thorald have been thinking of joining them. Those young rascals; just entered their late twenties and already they want to desert their poor old mother."

I hesitated. Join the Companions? The thought never once had crossed my mind.

My mind flickered back to when I had first seen the Companions—and the Harbinger, at that. Riding through Rorikstead on finely-groomed steeds, one bay, one palomino, one black. I had met them and spoken with them, and spent an afternoon and evening with Skjor the youngest. It had been almost two years since I had last seen a Companion.

"Ah, well," Fralia continued, and jerking me back to the present. "I suppose that my Avulstein and Thorald just want to take after their old uncle. My brother-in-law Vignar's been serving with the Companions ever since he came back from the Great War."

I nodded absently, listening to her conversation only vaguely. When I was sure that she had stopped for good this time, I asked her, "Just out of curiosity, how much are your amulets?"

"Well, the cheapest one is two hundred twenty, and the most expensive eight hundred."

I winced, visibly. "That's pretty high."

Fralia waved one hand distractedly. "I know, I know. Metal's been harder for my Eorlund to come by, though. But you'll find no finer gift in the whole of Skyrim than genuine Skyforge jewelry."

"Fralia—is it all right if I call you Fralia?"

"Of course, girl, go on."

"Er, thanks. Fralia, where would I go to find work? Do you know anyone in the city who could give me a job?"

Fralia frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm...if I were you, I'd try the Alchemical Supplies shop, just behind you. If not, you could ask the innkeeper Hulda. Young woman just came into ownership of the Bannered Mare, and you never know, she may appreciate you getting extra meat for her cooking fires."

Hmm. Hunting for the Bannered Mare sounded like my kind of job, I decided, rather than finding plants. "Thank you," I said, moving back around the stall.

"Anytime, my dear girl, anytime..."

The Bannered Mare, I immediately noticed as I stepped inside, was much nicer than Mralki's old Frostfruit Inn ever had been. An enormous fire burned in the centre of the wide, spacious room, lined with tables and chairs. A bard was playing a song on the flute near the dancing, crackling flames. A few townspeople were seated in the chairs, drinking and eating, and paid me very little attention as I made my way across the slightly-smoky room. Obviously pilgrims weren't something of interest to these townspeople, and I was sure that they took me for one.

A young brown-haired woman stood just behind the counter. She looked up as I approached; the stools at the counter were empty of any people, so I swung myself down onto one, finally taking the weight off my feet.

"Can I get you anything, or are you just putting your feet up?" asked Hulda. She had a heavy Nordic accent, I noticed.

"Um...one mead, please." Drink first, I decided, and ask for a job second.

Hulda ducked down behind the counter and brought up the mead and I paid her the six gold due for it. Immediately I uncorked the mead and took a long swig.

After a few smaller sips of my mead, and some food from my knapsack, I began to feel better from the long walk across the Hold. Soon Hulda, whose interest was obviously roused by my arrival, came over, and as she was wiping the benchtop she inquired, "Are you a pilgrim, or just a traveller?"

I swallowed my mouthful of bread and said, "Just a traveller."

"You look quite young to be out on your own," commented Hulda. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." _Was everyone going to ask what I was doing here in Whiterun?_

"So you've left home and gone to explore the world," Hulda guessed. "I haven't seen you around before."

"I've only just come into Whiterun," I explained. "Actually, I'm looking for work, and I was told that you could give me some."

"Unless that work was chopping up some more wood for the fires, I don't offer much," Hulda replied.

I sat up a little more. "I'm a huntress," I told her. "I'm young but I'm a professional, trust me. Do you need any more meat for the cooking fires?"

"A huntress?" Hulda looked interested now. "What do you hunt?"

"Anything and everything, though my prime kills are deer."

The door creaked at the front of the inn. Absently I glanced towards it, in time to see a young man enter. For a moment, I looked at him closely, and frowned slightly. Didn't he look familiar...?

"You know," Hulda said, and I turned back to the innkeeper abruptly, "I could do with some more venison. The supplies have been slower of late and Whiterun has quite a voracious appetite."

"Just tell me how much meat you need and I'll get the job done," I assured her.

Hulda frowned thoughtfully. "I'm no expert at cuttings...but...say, four deer? That should provide me with enough venison to feed Whiterun for at least a week. Can you handle that?"

"Aela?"

I started at the sound of my name, and glanced around in my seat. The young man was standing in front of me again. And suddenly, clearly outlined in the candlelight, I recognized him.

"Skjor?" I asked with disbelief, hardly believing it.

He looked so much older than I last remembered him. He had another scar to his face, and he was more lined, though only two years had passed since I had last seen him. But his face broke into a smile which I could remember pretty well.

"You're looking pretty good, Aela," he remarked. "Even got yourself some armour after all."

I smiled. "I decided to get some armour, particularly after the wolf incident."

"Wolf incident?" Skjor's face hardened. "What incident?"

"Ah, yeah. This." I calmly showed him the whitish scars on my arm and Skjor looked stunned. "Let's just say that I was, uh, caught out by wolves."

"And you survived, without armour? You must be pretty tough."

"Yeah, I was. Too stubborn to go to Sovngarde yet," I replied. "But I was close. Almost immediately after I was savaged by the wolves I contracted Bone Break Fever. It took a lot of healing potions from the wizard in Rorikstead and several days of rest before I was strong enough to begin building up my lost strength again." I frowned suddenly at Skjor. "But forget about the incident. Tell me why you didn't show up until about five days after you left Rorikstead and I was lying unconscious in my cottage."

Skjor sighed and sat down on the stool beside me. He didn't respond to my demand immediately. He turned to Hulda and said, "One mead."

"Certainly." Hulda put the mead bottle on the table and Skjor paid, took the mead at once, and then drained half the liquid in the bottle. Setting it back down, he looked at me with a sincere glimmer in his good eye.

"It wasn't good news that we headed up to Solitude," he murmured in a low voice. "High King Torygg wanted Leiknir's council on this real serious matter."

"What was it?"

"There's whispers of rebellion stirring up in Windhelm, from the Jarl there. Some Nord called Ulfric's grown restless." Skjor's face darkened. "Have I ever told you about how I joined the Companions?"

"No."

"I fought in the Great War," Skjor began solemnly. "I was one of the soldiers fighting in the Legion. I was a good fighter. Respected. Then I was run through with a sword and left for dead. If a healer hadn't found me amidst the carnage, I probably would've died. Even when I was healed I was still damaged." He pointed to his blind eye and said, "The wounds on my face healed up good and proper but you can't restore lost senses. So I was no use to the Legion anymore and kicked out."

I felt shivers running up my back. "I never realized," I murmured. I had heard many times of the Great War; it supposedly had ended when I was only eleven or twelve, and when the survivors began heading back home. Rorik had already been in Rorikstead before the Great War ended, too badly hurt to return to the armies, but he had suffered a similar fate to Skjor.

"For a while," Skjor continued, taking another swig of mead, "I worked as a sellsword. I killed off bandits with bounties and cleared out barrows and beast dens for money. A year, or two, of that work, and I had regained all my old strength and stamina, and I had adapted to using a blind side. It was on a job when I met one of the Companions."

"Kodlak?" I guessed.

"Nah, not Kodlak. Another one; a Redguard woman, named Myllasa. She suggested that I join the Companions in Whiterun, after I smoothly silenced a bear that had been about to chew her arm off. So...I took her advice, travelled to Whiterun, and now...here I am. A whelp, but an experienced one." Skjor's face was grim. "But I haven't forgotten what I experienced in the Great War. And so you can imagine my unease when there're rumours of a rebellion stirring in the east."

Without really thinking, I reached out, and lightly touched Skjor's arm.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't even know about your past."

Skjor shrugged my arm away. "It doesn't matter," he replied. "We were late coming back to Rorikstead because the meetings took some days. Torygg was really worried, and so was Elisif, for that matter. I mean, he's only just taken the throne after old Istlod's quarter-century reign. But the boy means well. He has a good heart; he'll make a fine High King when he grows into the role. But to be honest, I'm pretty worried, too. I don't want to go back into war."

"I can understand. Mother was a vivid storyteller; the Great War sounded terrible."

Skjor downed the rest of his mead in one smooth gulp and set the empty bottle on the table. "Bah, forget about me," he said. "Why are you here?"

"Left Rorikstead," I replied. "I finished my hunter training."

"I'm guessing that explains the warpaint?" Skjor's eye flickered to the three dark green streaks over my face. I smiled and lightly touched the cool evergreen paint, just out of habit.

"Yeah. Panjor says it's the mark of the hunter."

"Panjor? Was he your mentor?"

"Yes. Why, you know him?"

"No...I don't think so, at least." Skjor shrugged. "It doesn't matter, anyway. So, you finished your training, and now you're here. What exactly are you planning to do here?"

"Not sure," I admitted. "Find a bit of work to get by on." Remembering my earlier difficulties, I added, "And teach a rude guard a lesson."

"One giving you trouble?"

"I think he wanted to throw me in the dungeons, actually, particularly when I stood up to him."

"That sounds just like you, Aela; always hotheaded," said Skjor. A grin played on his face. "But forget the guard and the prospect of work. You came to Whiterun to join the Companions, didn't you?"

I hesitated. I had never thought that very idea in my mind, but...now that I was here, it seemed like perfect sense to join with them. Particularly the way Skjor said it. But I wasn't a warrior. I was a huntress. I didn't belong in open combat, in open warfare with other people. I barely had survived against three wolves.

So instead I replied, "Maybe."

Skjor rose to his feet. "Worried you'll be rejected?"

"Of course not!" I replied hotly, standing up as well. "But...I hadn't given the matter much thought." _I hadn't given the matter any thought, actually._

"So give it some thought now," Skjor suggested. "I'll say this as a Companion to you, Aela; you're fast, you're strong-willed, you're independent and fiery and strong, plus you've got a lot of wit and a huge amount of spirit. All the attributes that make a good Companion in the end. And Kodlak will remember you as well."

"Kodlak?" I echoed.

"Ah—yes, I've forgotten to say." Skjor's gaze momentarily shadowed with grief. "Leiknir, he...he died. Last year. Fell in an old Nordic ruin and didn't rise again."

I clapped a hand to my mouth in shock. "Oh! I'm...I never realized!"

"Before he died, he...he had already chosen his successor," said Skjor. "Kodlak." Now pride tinged his voice. "Kodlak's the new Harbinger of the Companions and there's nobody better born into the role of leading us 'brigands', as he sometimes describes us to be like. And our hall has grown in size and in number. But we've still plenty of room for more whelps wanting to join on with our fine group."

"Me, you mean," I guessed.

"And anyone else who thinks they can match us in skill," replied Skjor. He rested a hand on my shoulder and said, "Come on. I'll take you to meet them."

I stared at him. "Seriously? I meet you, there's a two-year-absence between us, and as soon as we meet again for the second time in our lives you want me to become a Companion?"

Skjor gave me a grin as he led me out of the Bannered Mare. "Why not? We can at least give it a go. Besides, even though he's only been the Harbinger for less than a year, Kodlak has a pretty good eye for new blood. He has this sense, able to tell if a new recruit has enough mettle or not. And I'm pretty sure you have enough mettle to match anyone in Jorrvaskr."

"If by 'mettle' you mean 'temper', I'm pretty sure Kodlak will find the largest amount of mettle in me than he has ever seen before," I said.

Skjor grinned more widely. "You're probably right."


	9. Chapter 8 - The Silver Mistake

Chapter Eight

The moment we stepped out of the Bannered Mare, I felt as if my life had changed, even though Skjor hadn't taken me to Jorrvaskr yet. He led me up to the Wind District, the area of Whiterun which was above where I currently was (called the Plains District, I believe) and I felt my eyes goggle.

"Is that...the Gildergreen?" I whispered.

Skjor nodded, pausing and folding his arms and looking up at the gigantic tree. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

The words 'beautiful' wouldn't be enough to describe it. The tree was enormous, with dark brown bark and long, slender branches. It was budding heavily with deep crimson and pink leaves and flowers, as if it were always spring here. As I listened, a soft breeze came, and disturbed the branches, and the sound of the wind through the leaves almost sounded like a soft, melodious whispering.

"No wonder pilgrims come here," I commented.

"But you're not a pilgrim," said Skjor. "So put your eyes back into your head and come with me. Maybe you'll goggle like that when you see Jorrvaskr, which is one head-turn to your right."

"It is?" I felt as if I hadn't seen enough of Whiterun. From the Wind District I could even see the gigantic building Dragonsreach from here, and a mighty statue of Talos lit by candles only a few paces away. Then I turned fully around and followed Skjor up a series of stone steps and to an enormous rounded construction made of aged but firm wood. Just behind this mighty construct was...well, I could only describe it as some sort of gigantic stone-carved bird, leaning over the glow of a forge, located up on a small cliff just above the mead hall.

"I've never heard you sound so quiet," Skjor teased.

I spun around and responded, "From the simple life of Rorikstead to...well, to _this_...it's enough to shut anybody up!"

"I think I like that."

We approached the front doors to Jorrvaskr and Skjor led me inside.

This place was just as magnificent on the inside as the outside. I had never been in a room this large before in my life—my whole cottage could fit comfortably within Jorrvaskr's walls. Sunlight streamed in through windows, forming golden puddles of light on the floors, and the room was lit with a cheery glow from the large fire in the centre of the room. Around the fire was a table draped in red and laden with empty plates and goblets—a preparation for tonight's feast, I assumed. Tapestries hung from the pillaring and the surrounding walls. And then there were people, striding around the mead hall, sitting in chairs, reading, arguing for a moment before slogging each other in the face...

Then I realized it was just two people who were punching each other's eyes out. Almost immediately the Companions all leapt to their feet and hurried around, shouting things like, "Fight! Fight!" and "He's not so tough, take him down!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" came the sarcastic response, bringing a bout of laughter. I widened my eyes in surprise when I realized the voice was female.

"Er..." I glanced awkwardly at Skjor. "Does...things like this always happen?"

"Brawls?" Skjor grinned at me. He seemed to be enjoying this. "Yeah. The problem is, they don't last long enough."

Suddenly I heard a door bang open and the cheering died, and a voice demanded, "What's all this?"

"Uh-oh," murmured Skjor, subtly leading me off to one side, to a place where I wasn't noticeable, but could still watch the action. "This isn't good."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Nobody in Jorrvaskr gets Orgmund's attention and survives," Skjor muttered.

I looked over the heads of the small crowd to see a very large and burly Nord with no hair and a big scar across his temple, glowering at the two brawlers. One of them was a woman, slender-faced and high-boned with light gold skin that seemed to shimmer in the halflight. The other was a slightly-shorter man, with thinning grey hair and a bald patch on the top, but he sounded young when he eventually spoke.

"Do you think acting like common brigands are going to get you any closer to the Circle?" The enormous Nord demanded. The candlelight caught on the armour he wore and I saw it looked heavily-plated, and it was dark green in colour, with big pointed pauldrons. "Do you think this behaviour is tolerated in the Companions?"

"No, Orgmund," mumbled the two younger Companions—whelps, I assumed.

Orgmund crossed his gauntleted arms. "You obviously seem to have forgotten that. Well, what was the cause of the argument this time?"

The slender-faced and pointed-ear woman spoke up first. "It was Derrick's fault, Orgmund. He called me an Imperial's lapdog!"

I frowned, glancing at Skjor. "What does she mean?"

"Later," breathed Skjor, watching Orgmund's face darken.

"And you respond to the name-calling with violence?" Orgmund inquired coldly. The woman looked ashamed and studied her feet.

Orgmund swung around to glare at the man. "And please tell me why you called Eiwen an Imperial's lapdog, Derrick."

The man, Derrick, didn't respond.

"Let me guess," said Orgmund mockingly. "Is it because she is a Bosmer, and therefore a traitor to Skyrim?"

The woman's face hardened in anger. Derrick's face flushed.

Orgmund took a step forward. "Well, let me tell you something, boy. Just because she's a Mer doesn't mean she took part in the Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion. I'd expected you to understand that, as you have the Mer blood in you as well. And did you fight with the Elves? Did you even fight with the Legion?"

"N-no, sir," stammered Derrick.

"Apologize," Orgmund ordered.

"I'm sorry."

"Look into her eyes and tell her that!"

Derrick quickly glanced at the woman—the Bosmer—and saw the anger smouldering in her clear gold gaze. "I'm sorry," he said, though he said it almost contemptuously.

For a moment, the woman held his gaze, and then responded icily, "Apology accepted. Know better than to call me that next time."

"Right: both of you," Orgmund said in a final sort of tone. "This is getting to be stupid. You're meant to be Shield-Siblings, by the Gods. Not rivals. Both of you, stay away from one another. Sit at opposite ends of the table tonight."

Sheepishly, the pair walked away, and the group disbanded. The man Orgmund turned on his heel and stormed back downstairs.

"Um," I said, the moment the door clicked shut. "What was...all that about?"

"Derrick's not cruel," said Skjor, peeling himself away from the wall. "Well, sometimes he can be, but he's okay when you get to know him. He can just slip his mouth sometimes."

"What did Orgmund mean by he should have understood? He didn't look like a Nord, or an Elf."

"He's a Breton; a crossbreed, like Bosmer," responded Skjor. "But don't call Derrick a crossbreed. The guy might not have strong speech skills but the way that the guy uses an axe is possibly lethal and very dangerous to anyone who's standing near the sharp end."

"Where are we going?"

"To Kodlak," replied Skjor. He pointed to the door that Orgmund had just walked through, which led to some underground level. "He usually resides in his quarters, until he's needed. So that's where we'll probably find him."

"I see—wait, what are those?"

Above the staircase leading to the underground floor was a big mounting display. A few storm-silver shards glittered in some of the holdings.

Skjor stopped and looked up at the pieces with pride. "Those," he declared, "are the Companions' gathered pieces of mighty Wuuthrad."

I stared in amazement at Skjor. "You mean...the _real_ axe that Ysgramor wielded?"

"Right," replied Skjor. "The genuine thing. Wuuthrad itself broke a long time ago, but sometimes we learn the location of a shard. And when we do...well, we immediately send the best out to get it. Perhaps one day we'll rebuild the mighty axe, so it can live up to its full glory again."

"One day," I echoed. There were still a lot of empty slots. Then I heard Skjor's knuckles rap impatiently on my armour and glanced down at him to see he was already halfway down the stairs.

"At the rate we're going we'll never make it to Kodlak," he said impatiently. "Hurry up!"

I grinned as I walked slowly down the stairs. "You sound just like my mentor," I said.

"Unfortunately I'm not one," replied Skjor. "Or I'd give you a real telling-off. Just wait until Orgmund starts. He'll chew you up and spit you out like cud, so here's my advice; don't peeve Orgmund or you'll regret it."

We entered down below. The place was entirely made of stone; the ceiling arched gracefully above. Lanterns hung from the ceiling. A long, red rug was thrown over the floor. I could see slightly-ajar doors that probably led into sleeping quarters, tables lining the outer walls, and at the end of the hall I could see a closed door, and soft voices echoing from within the room behind.

"This is the undercroft, the sleeping area," explained Skjor, as we walked side-by-side down the red carpet. "New whelps sleep in that room back there. Plenty of beds, nobody's own; just pick the first one you see and fall in it when you're weary."

"So you sleep there, too?"

"Until I become a member of the Circle and get my own room," replied Skjor. He pointed out two previously-unnoticed corridors and said, "Down there are the private rooms. Usually there are six, but there's never been more than five members of the Circle, including the Harbinger. I guess the spare room's just a precaution." He gestured in front to the room we were heading to. "And in there is the Harbinger's personal space. Kodlak's personal space. By the sounds of it, he's in a discussion with a couple of the members of the Circle."

"Should...should we go in, then?"

Skjor glanced teasingly at me. "I've never heard you sound so nervous, Aela."

"I'm not nervous!" I drew myself up indignantly, though really, something was fluttering in my belly. "But if Kodlak's in a meeting I don't think he'd appreciate being disturbed by a couple of—well, one whelp and another who's hoping to join."

"We can at least check." Skjor walked to the door, hesitated for a split second, and then knocked.

I suddenly heard Kodlak's voice echo from behind the door. "Come in."

He sounded exactly the way I remembered him. Skjor now fearlessly pushed the door open and led me inside. Inside, the room was lavishly decorated; candles outlined fine tapestries, shelves and display cases that held various trinkets and artifacts. In the corner of the room were three chairs, all occupied.

I could recognize two of them; one was Kodlak. He hadn't changed one bit, except for a small scar near his nose. The other was Orgmund, the member of the Circle who had scolded the Breton and the Bosmer for their brawl barely a few minutes ago. And the third was someone I had never seen before, and it was difficult not to stare.

The third person had...scales. Covering his entire body. He had a slanted lizardlike faced dotted with dark green feather-like quills on his skull, acting like hair, and a long pink scar across one side of his head. His face was very sharply-outlined, shades of grey noticeable in his deep red-and-green scales. His eyes were round, dark, and orange, the colour of copper, with a jet-black core. The most noticeable thing about his appearance was his long tail, which he had curled unobtrusively over his lap and around the hilt of a long, slender sword that lay at his hip. Was he...an Argonian? I had heard of the reptilian folk from the wetland province of Black Marsh but...well, I didn't think they looked creepy. Just...bizarre.

"A new one approaches," said the Argonian. He had a soft, husky voice that seemed to hiss through the air.

"Skjor," said Kodlak. "Who do you bring to our halls?"

I don't think he recognized me. Perhaps not beneath the evergreen warpaint.

"Um...Harbinger," said Skjor. "She...she would like to join the Companions."

I dipped my head briefly in confirmation when three pairs of inquiring eyes fell on me.

"New blood, huh?" said the Nord, Orgmund. His voice was gruff and growly, and I immediately thought of the sounds a bear would make. "What's your name, girl?"

_Girl?_ Anger flashed briefly through my body, squashing any nervousness I had been feeling. I lifted my chin and said, "It's Aela. The Huntress."

"Aela..." Kodlak said thoughtfully. "Unless I'm much mistaken, you are that young woman from Rorikstead. Am I correct?"

I nodded, glad that at least Kodlak got the hint I wasn't to be called 'girl' quicker than Orgmund. Plus, he had the courtesy to call me a young woman. "I've finished my hunting training and now I've come to offer my skills to the Companions."

"Is that so?" Kodlak raised an eyebrow. "Let me take a look at you."

His dark eyes scanned me for a moment, taking me in. I had a feeling that he had seen the scars on my arm, was looking at the state of the armour I wore, the arrows that were slung over my shoulder. Then, eventually, Kodlak said, "Very well. I sense a fire burning in your heart, and a lust to prove yourself."

"So am I a Companion or aren't I?" I asked.

Orgmund's scowl deepened. "Rather impertinent, aren't you?" he growled.

I remembered Skjor's warning far too late. But oddly enough, I wasn't feeling nervous anymore. I was feeling more like my old self. Here were three Companions, who weren't overly-impressed with me, rather like in Rorikstead. At least I wasn't covered in dirt and standing knee-deep in the earth digging up carrots this time. "Not impertinent," I responded coolly. "Spirited."

"Then your heart's fire burns brightly," said the Argonian. "Perhaps you will be welcomed into Jorrvaskr." He said 'Jorrvaskr' strangely, as if he couldn't pronounce the _r_ on the end, so it ended up sounding like 'Jorrvassk'. Perhaps that was just a heavy Argonian accent coming on. "But firstly, you will need to prove yourself to us."

"How?" I said, forcing it to not sound like a demand.

"You will need to show your strength," said Kodlak. "Show how skilled you are when it comes to the heat of battle."

I felt dismay sear through me. The last time I had dealt in open combat, I ended up both badly wounded and seriously unwell. But I didn't let my dismay show through; some other nameless sense was burning in my blood, and the heat intensified whenever I looked at Orgmund, and whatever this sense was, it drowned my dismay.

"Orgmund," said Kodlak, turning to the bald, scarred Nord. "Take Aela outside and test her arm. We will see if she has enough mettle to make it to becoming a Companion."

Orgmund heaved himself to his feet. "My pleasure."

I noticed that this guy, Orgmund, was built like a giant. He was at least one head taller than I was, and a heck of a lot broader. This was going to be fun, particularly when I noticed the wicked-edged two-handed greatsword slung over his shoulders.

Orgmund marched silently out of the room, and quietly I followed him. I glanced at Skjor on the way out; the young man was watching me with a mixture of awe and fear. _He doesn't think I can take this brute on_. Determination suddenly seared through me, blinding all other senses. _Nor does Orgmund. But I'm going to prove both wrong._

How, exactly, I wasn't sure. My close-range weapon was a skinning knife.

Looks like I'd have to rely on my bow. And my armour to protect me. I hoped Panjor's gifts would be enough.

* * *

Orgmund led me outside to the training area. In the shelter of the overhang, I passed several tables, some of them occupied. These people now watched me with interest. I brushed a tendril of russet hair out of my eyes and narrowed them against the glare of the late-afternoon sun. Looks like I'd have an audience. Wonderful.

He led me to the middle of the training ground. The place was flat and barren of any objects, the ground cobblestoned beneath us; a perfect place to train. Orgmund turned to face me; outlined more clearly in sunlight, I saw his face bear a quality, some nameless appearance, that gave me a slight shiver. His eyes looked almost dark bronze in this light, and his face seemed to look more imposing. No wonder people were afraid of this guy.

"Right, girl," growled Orgmund. "Kodlak thinks you've got the guts to join the Companions. To do so, you've got to get through me."

"My pleasure," I replied.

"You've got a fire in your heart, all right," Orgmund said, with obvious dislike. "But you'll soon learn that smart-mouths aren't any more welcome in Jorrvaskr as thieves or skeevers."

His hand went up and he drew the greatsword. Holy Mother of God. It was about as long as I was, and wickedly-sharp.

I drew my bow. It looked like a child's toy compared to the monster Orgmund was holding.

"An archer, eh?" Orgmund's eyes narrowed further. "You've got a lot to learn about the outside world, young Aela."

At least he had the decency to call me by my proper name. "And you've got a lot to learn about me," I murmured in response.

"Now; just before we begin," Orgmund clarified, "We fight like we mean it. Throw anything you got at me, and I'll take it. When I sheathe my weapon, the bout's over. When you sheathe yours, the bout's over, but you fail and you have to leave."

"Fine," I said. Understood. I win, I get into the Companions. I fail, I'm never coming back.

"Very well. Let's see what you're made of." With frightening speed, Orgmund suddenly charged.

Reflexes acted alone on me. In one swift movement I ducked and rolled beneath the lethal blade and sprang lightly back onto my feet some distance away. Orgmund abruptly halted his charge and spun around. Already my hand was going to the arrow from my quiver. I drew it and knocked it and aimed.

I saw Orgmund's face pale. Fear flashed for a moment across his face.

What? Was he terrified of me? The next moment, I had loosed my arrow, and it had buried itself into his shoulder.

"Arrgh!" With a scream of pain, Orgmund took half a step back, one hand tensing, as though he were in agony. With a grunt, he transferred his weapon to his left hand, and jerked up his right hand, and tore the arrow out of his shoulder.

"Silver?" he spluttered, staring at the arrowhead as though I had poisoned it. He looked sharply up at me, and rage fell across his face. A little alarmed and definitely confused, I took a step backward from him. He straightened, and sheathed the greatsword, but I had a sickening feeling I hadn't won the bout.

"Where did you get this?" Orgmund's voice was little more than a growl.

"Um...I was given the arrows as a gift," I responded, a little unsure of myself. Had I done something wrong? I became aware that there was tension in the air; the Companions who had been watching me were just as confused as I was. "Orgmund, can you tell me what is going on?" I said at last, feeling irritation drop through me.

"Who gave them to you?" Orgmund demanded.

"My ex-mentor, Panjor," I responded. I held out my hand. "If the bout's over, can I at least have my arrow back?"

Orgmund didn't respond to my latest question. Instead, he stiffly walked past me, and at a brusque jerk of his head, he ordered me to follow. "We'll see about this," I heard him mutter darkly, as he stormed back into Jorrvaskr, still carrying my arrow.

I felt the confused stares of the Companions outside bore into my back, but I don't think I could have answered any questions they had about me. I think I was more bemused—and a little more afraid—than they were.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh boy, Orgmund is definitely pissed, though it's hardly surprising.  
**

**Anyone starting to think who Panjor could be...? Ooh, the anticipation...  
**

**Feel free to post a review: all appreciated! And thanks for reading!  
**


	10. Chapter 9 - I'm a Whelp Now

Chapter Nine

As soon as I walked into the undercroft with Orgmund, who was still muttering darkly for some unfathomable reason, Skjor materialized next to me and said quietly, "That was a short time! So how did it go! Did you...did you get in?"

After a half glance at Orgmund, who had drawn on ahead and already marched into Kodlak's quarters, I muttered, "I don't think it could have gone any worse."

"Why?" Skjor's face shadowed when he saw the troubled look in my eyes. "What happened?"

"To be honest, I—"

"Aela," said Kodlak. His voice was brittle and solemn. I stopped mid-sentence. "Please wait outside. You too, Skjor."

There was something in his voice. He sounded...almost angry. My confusion mounted. What had I done wrong? I shoot one arrow in Orgmund's shoulder and suddenly I'm in big, big trouble. Wasn't that what I was meant to do? But I obliged, silently, backing quickly out of the room with Skjor close to me. The doors closed. The sounds from within the room were immediately muffled. Orgmund still had my arrow.

Quickly Skjor led me to the nearest bench and sat down beside me. "What happened?"

"Do I look like I have any idea?" I asked quietly. "I was doing everything right. I dodged Orgmund's blow and shot an arrow in his shoulder and suddenly my future is dark and grim. Was I meant to shoot Orgmund in the shoulder? Or somewhere else?"

Skjor looked completely lost. "That's it? That's all that happened?"

"Pretty much." I leaned back and closed my eyes. "You know, I never really expected this was going to happen on my very first day here." Glancing at Skjor, I added, "Orgmund seemed pretty upset that I was using silver arrows, though. Any idea why?"

Skjor shrugged. "Don't worry, Aela. I'm sure it's just a big misunderstanding."

I snorted. "Misunderstanding. Right."

I didn't mean to sound so skeptical, but I realized that though I hadn't known it at first, the moment I met Kodlak again after a two-year absence, I had really wanted to join the Companions, and the very thought of being kicked out really put a twist in my heart. Skjor had hopes for me, and had I just gone and dashed them, for a reason I didn't even know? Angrily I drew another silver arrow from the quiver and looked at it critically.

"These arrows were a gift from Panjor a year ago," I said, almost angrily, scowling at the silver head as though it had done me a personal insult. "I've been using them all the time. I don't understand why Orgmund's making a fuss about the silver on it."

Skjor shook his head slowly. He, too, was at a loss.

I was grateful for his company in the tense hour that passed. The steady flow of voices behind the closed door never changed. I couldn't make out any word, and I found myself so apprehensive that I was starting to break out in sweat. The last thing I needed was for Skjor to see me so nervous, so on the pretence I was checking the straps on my boots I quickly wiped my forehead of moisture. Skjor said nothing; his face was burrowed in thought. Obviously he was trying to figure out an answer.

And then suddenly the voice flow ended, and the door opened. I sharply looked up and then rose to my feet. Kodlak stood in the doorway, and he walked over to me.

"Aela," he began, but before he could continue, Skjor interjected.

"This is all a huge misunderstanding," he said insistently to the Harbinger. "Aela did nothing wrong. So why are you exiling her now?"

I held my breath. Would Kodlak really do that?

"Silence," Kodlak ordered Skjor, and reluctantly, he fell quiet. Turning back to me, Kodlak said, "Aela, tell me again who gave you the arrows."

Anger flashed in my mind, burning my blood. "Why are you making such a big deal over the arrows?" I snapped. "They're not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about."

I expected Kodlak to get angry. But he didn't. Instead, he said quietly, "I'm afraid that the reason behind our concerns is not for your knowing. At least, not yet. But I need to know who gave you the arrows."

I scowled. "My hunting mentor, Panjor," I said. "I didn't buy them and I don't know where I got them and I don't care. What's Orgmund's problem?"

I didn't mean to sound so rude but my confusion was leading to a lot of anger and politeness was the last thing on my mind right now.

Kodlak just sighed deeply and said, half to himself, "Nobody that we know..." Raising his voice, he placed a hand on my shoulder, and I braced myself to hear the heartbreaking words, to respond as nicely as I could manage, to head to the Bannered Mare and drink my sorrows away with some good, strong mead...

But all Kodlak said was, "Welcome."

I looked up, astonished. "Um...what?"

"Welcome," Kodlak repeated. He patted my shoulder in an almost fond manner. "You proved your mettle, girl."

Somehow, when he called me 'girl', I didn't get angry. I wasn't even slightly annoyed. The way that Kodlak said it seemed to make all the difference.

"So...I'm a Companion now?"

"Yes. Welcome, Shield-Sister." Kodlak's face broke into a smile. "I hope that you will be an asset to us."

I stepped back and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll...I'll do my best."

"But there is one thing I must ask of you."

I stopped, my elation fast-fading. "What is it?"

"I must ask you to replace your arrows."

Anger stiffened me. I was about to speak furiously, but Kodlak simply said, "Please do not argue with me, Aela. This is a matter that is very important to many of us. But you cannot be permitted to use those silver arrows anymore."

I wanted to demand, "Why not?", but the words wouldn't come. Anger churned in my mind. I still didn't have a clue what that was all about. Instead, I said stiffly, "I can't afford any new arrows."

"No need; just send word to Eorlund Gray-Mane, up in the Skyforge," said Kodlak. "He'll set you up with Skyforge steel arrows."

Skyforge steel? Now I was interested. But only just. The silver arrows were a gift from Panjor. I didn't want to throw them away and forget about them. "And I assume he'll give me the arrows for free?" I asked dryly, remembering how expensive the simple amulets and rings were at Fralia Gray-Mane's stall.

"Perhaps not for free," said Kodlak, with a rueful smile. "But if you help him out with a few favours, I'm sure he can spare a few steel ingots to make you a quiver of Skyforge arrows."

He sighed, almost wearily. "But tonight is not the time. I will ask you to please leave behind your silver arrows. I trust that Skjor will show you around and get you settled."

"Yes, sir," came the confirming reply behind me.

"I also recommend that you get to know your fellow Shield-Siblings," Kodlak suggested. "And we gather at the table for supper at eight. But congratulations, Aela; you're a whelp now. But I have a feeling that you'll prove yourself to us one day."

"I'll do my best," I said quietly. "But...what will you do with my arrows?"

"Dispose of them humanely. Please, give them to me."

It felt difficult, slinging the quiver from my shoulder, tipping out the remaining nineteen arrows and handing them to Kodlak. The Harbinger, I noticed, handled the arrows with unusual care. He did not let the silver arrowheads once touch his skin. Then I slung the empty quiver back over my shoulder and watched as he carried away one of the only memories of Panjor I had left. He closed and locked the door behind him.

* * *

"This can be your chest." Skjor gave the empty chest a nudge with his foot and the hinges rattled. "Just dump your belongings in there. Nobody takes from anybody, so they should be safe."

I opened the chest and shrugged my backpack into it. I hesitated for a moment, and then took out my coin purse. "I don't trust that the chest can be locked," I commented, as I slipped the purse into a pocket. "And I don't trust the chest to look after the gold for me."

I looked around the whelp's room. Several beds lined the walls. In fact, there were quite a few. I counted fifteen.

And then Skjor was walking out of the room again. "Come on, I'll take you to meet the others," he said to me. Quickly I closed the chest lid and followed him.

We headed up to the main level, almost at once to hear the barking of a dog echoing through Jorrvaskr. I stopped, surprised, and saw that Skjor was grinning. "Ah, it looks like they're back," he said.

"Who's back?"

"Aileen and Ornith," replied Skjor. "They've just been to Shor's Stone to clear out some troublesome spiders in the forests surrounding. And I believe that they took Fang with them."

"Fang?" I looked towards the front door to see several Companions gathered around two people and a large, brown-and-black dog the size of a small wolf. "I'm guessing that Fang is the dog," I said.

"Aye, and a right bastard he is, too; enjoys to steal food off the plates of unwary Companions during mealtimes, and then hide under the table and pretend nothing happened."

I glanced at Skjor. "He's done that to you, I assume?"

"More times than I can count," Skjor said. "So sometimes I go and have dinner in the Bannered Mare. No dogs allowed there. But...it's lonelier down there. No Shield-Siblings to raise a mug and drunkenly sing The Dragonborn Comes because their friend beside them dared them to."

I heard footsteps nearby and glanced over my shoulder to see a couple of Companions approach me. They wore armour quite unlike any I had seen before; strange garments, bound at the wrists, with a big kind of turban that fell around their dark brown faces, and high boots that went up to the knee. They also bore long, curved swords.

"Hi," said the woman. "Would you be Aela?"

"Um...yeah," I replied. "How do you know my name? I don't think I've met you."

"My brother was watching you fight Orgmund earlier," the woman said. The man who stood beside her nodded in confirmation.

"Seems that you gave Orgmund a good blow," he commented. Their voices sounded foreign, I decided, as were their clothes, weapons...everything about them, really. "So you're a whelp now?"

"Yes."

"Then you'd best be showing me some respect," he said, and I swore that his chest puffed up a little. "Any new blood who doesn't show respect to members of the Circle could be...ah...punished."

"Oh, stop it," said his sister, punching him lightly in the ribs. Turning to me, she said, "Ignore him. Lemaat's only just become a member of the Circle and he's never letting anyone forget. I'm Myllasa, by the way."

"Myllasa..." I had heard that name before. "Didn't you suggest to Skjor that he should join the Companions?"

Myllasa nodded. "Yes, I did. That was some years back, though." She glanced at Skjor and grinned, showing very white teeth, and added, "Quite a warrior he was. He saved my life from a bear. I didn't have weapon in hand and it was on top of me. So I put in a recommendation for him in the Companions and now here he is, well on his way to challenge Lemaat's post."

"Not before I first become Harbinger," Lemaat said.

"Challenging Kodlak for his post already?" Skjor asked incredulously. "The old man's only been at it for a year!"

Lemaat shrugged. "No harm in being prepared for the future."

He turned to me, and said, "And as for your fighting...well, you had a pretty bizarre end to your test. I mean, for a moment, I thought that you were going to be kicked out. In fact, I was _certain_ you were going to be kicked out."

I wasn't sure I liked this man too much. "Well, Orgmund just has a problem with silver arrows."

"Silver arrows? So they were silver, then?"

If I wasn't mistaken, I saw fear suddenly creep into Lemaat's gaze, his dark eyes suddenly cautious. But then his expression passed, and Lemaat simply said, "I see that you got rid of them in the end. So how are you going to survive as an archer without any arrows?"

He had an arrogant note to his voice, but perhaps that was just his personality. Nonetheless I felt a flash of irritation; Lemaat was treating me like someone stupid. "I probably could have beaten Orgmund without arrows," I retorted. "The man ended the bout when I only struck him once. He didn't even touch me!"

Lemaat's gaze suddenly shadowed. "Be careful what you say to the man," he warned me. "If you annoy the wrong members of the Circle, bad things happen..."

I stopped. _Um, excuse me?_

"But hopefully, you won't," said Lemaat, his voice arrogant and cheerful once again. "So, Shield-Sister, have you met your new siblings yet?"

Before I could respond, I heard an interested voice say behind me, "New siblings? Is there a new whelp?"

Out of the corner of my eyes, another Companion came to join the conversation. I recognized her; the Bosmer who had been brawling earlier. "Well, all I can say to you now is, welcome to Jorrvaskr," she said. "I'm Eiwen."

"Aela the Huntress," I replied.

Eiwen looked me over, as though sizing me up. "From what I hear," she said, "You're pretty good with a bow and arrow. You gave Orgmund a bit of a nasty bite to his shoulder."

"He had a problem with silver," I replied. "I hope that you don't?"

"No, not at all," Eiwen responded. Her voice hardened. "But who I do have a problem with are those who don't accept me."

"Oh, relax, Eiwen," said Myllasa. "You've only got a grudge against Derrick."

"Don't play stupid," said Eiwen, glaring at Myllasa. "You've no idea how difficult it's been for me to try and find a place here in Jorrvaskr. Ornith, too. These superstitious Nords here have a problem with the Mer, even though neither of us took part in the Great War."

"And you think we were readily accepted too, huh?" Lemaat puffed out his chest again. "They didn't treat us as equally as they treated Nords, just because we look and sound different and wear different clothes, the fine garbs of Hammerfell. But I kept my head, and _now_ look where I'm at!"

_Hammerfell,_ I thought. _So these two must be Redguards._

Eiwen turned to me again. "I hope you're not going to stoop to the Breton's level and call me an Imperial lapdog, because I'm not," she said bitterly.

I shook my head. "I don't think it'd be best for me to start insulting fellow Companions on my first day here," I said. "I mean, I only just got in myself."

"You want to keep your nose clean?" Eiwen's gaze narrowed. "Don't hang around with the Breton, then. Derrick. He has quite a few things to say about outsiders."

"But isn't he an outsider himself, if he come from High Rock?" I asked, remembering the homeland of the Bretons.

"Yes. But mentioning his past is a bit of a...painful subject," Eiwen said, lowering her voice a little. "He and his sister Aileen were raised in High Rock, but came to Whiterun as refugees. Most hated them at the time; the Reachmen, now called the Forsworn, had captured Markarth a few months prior. But they were pretty skilled warriors, and Leiknir accepted them into Jorrvaskr." Raising her voice, she continued, "It's lucky that he did; Aileen's a pretty good alchemist as well as a bladeswoman. Can brew up a potion to anything."

"And pretty ace with poisons, too," Skjor added.

Eiwen nodded. "Yes. Don't get on the wrong end of Aileen's blade, Aela. Just a friendly forewarning."

"Appreciate it." I watched as Eiwen walked away, and sensed a bitterness churning inside her, and guessed that she was experiencing the same racism as I had heard of from the cart driver outside the city. _Wow. Some people here can be real jerks too,_ I thought.

I turned back to Myllasa and Lemaat. "So you two come form Hammerfell?"

"The one and only," smiled Myllasa. "Ah, the land of sand and seas. Me and Lemaat spent most of our childhood in Taneth, but when the Aldmeri Dominion began invading Hammerfell we left and travelled to Skyrim seeking sanctuary."

"So you were refugees?" I found it pretty difficult to believe that these two—obviously very strong warriors—ever were afraid. They had that headstrong look about them.

"You could call us that, like the Dunmer who came to Windhelm after Vvardenfell exploded," Myllasa said with a shrug. "We came to Whiterun and heard about the Companions, and that sounded like the right place for us to be. And now...here we are. My brother's now a member of the Circle, and I'm the most experienced whelp in Jorrvaskr."

"You're not a member of the Circle?" I asked.

Myllasa shook her head. "But it'll be my turn soon enough. I still have to prove myself to them."

Soon after Myllasa and Lemaat had walked away, I encountered some more of my Shield-Siblings. Obviously word of a new whelp had spread and now they were coming to investigate who I was. Skjor thought that they were pretty keen to meet me. "It's been months since we've had a new face around Jorrvaskr," he explained. "So of course everyone wants to meet you."

It wasn't long before I met the Bretons up close, and their dog, Fang. After a brief conversation with Aileen and Derrick I figured that they seemed all right. Fang was slightly cautious towards me, and I didn't really care if the dog stayed away from me. As far as I was concerned, anything that walked on four paws was prey or predator.

"I heard you're an alchemist," I said to Aileen, several minutes into our conversation of getting better acquainted.

"Not a qualified alchemist," Aileen replied modestly. "But I can brew potions and healing balms, so if you ever need something to help with your hunting, I'll be happy to see what I can do...for a price, of course. Ingredients don't come by cheaply."

"Sound reasonable," I grudgingly conceded.

Fang barked.

"I wish you luck making a name for yourself, huntress," said Derrick, in a voice that suggested just the very slightest sneer. "You'll find that it's quite difficult to get the Circle's attention the correct way, much less make it to becoming a member of the Circle. Particularly when...well, you had, say, _difficulties_ getting in."

If I was a she-wolf my hackles would be rising by now. I was strongly reminded of Lemkil. "But I got in, so that's something I can say for myself," I retorted.

Derrick narrowed his eyes. "Ah, but for how long?" he drawled.

"Shut it, Derrick," snapped Skjor. "Come on, Aela, I'll take you to meet the others."

Fang growled, his fur starting to spike. I wanted to turn to Skjor and tell him that I could fight my own battles, thank you very much, but I had a feeling I'd just embarrass him in front of Derrick and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. So I reluctantly turned and followed Skjor.

Some distance away, I hissed angrily, "I can look after myself, Skjor. You don't need to step in."

"First encounters with Derrick usually end up in a fist-fight," muttered Skjor. "And we can't have you getting into trouble."

"What do you mean, we can't have me get into trouble?" I stopped and stared incredulously at Skjor. "What's come over you? You already know, perfectly well, that I can look after myself. There is no 'we' in that regard."

Skjor backed off. "Fine, fine, suit yourself." He seemed resentful, but it was his own fault; I don't need defending from anything. I glanced back at the Breton siblings. They exchanged words, and a lot of glances at me, before they finally moved off, Fang trotting loyally at their heels. I had a feeling I had made another unfriendly Shield-Sibling on my first day, if you could count Orgmund a Shield-Brother. More like a Shield-Bear, or a -Brute, I thought to myself with some level of amusement. Turning back to Skjor, I asked him, "Anyone else I've yet to meet?"

Skjor pointed them out. "Ornith and Taija. Be careful around them; they can be just as feisty as you sometimes."

"I doubt it." I narrowed my eyes as I took in the Dunmer, Ornith. He had skin the colour of stormclouds, and nightblack hair twisted up into a loose ponytail, and twin swords crisscrossing over his back. He wore light, simple hide armour, and leather boots. He was speaking quietly with the woman, Taija; she was a hard-nosed Nord, I recognized immediately, Her face looked solidly-set, as if she never smiled, and several scars tore across her face. Her eyes, I could see from where I stood, were piercing and...black. That was odd. I had never seen black eyes before. Slightly unnerved, I glanced at Skjor. "Did Taija always have black eyes?" I asked.

"Obviously," said Skjor. "But how should I know? She's been with the Companions longer than I have."

The woman wore heavy steel armour that seemed to make my own look pretty pathetic.

"You know what?" I turned to Skjor. "I think I'll pass on them. If they want to talk to me, they'll talk to me."

"I doubt they would. Ornith, maybe, but Taija's a member of the Circle. She talks to no-one." Skjor shrugged. "Well, except Ornith, at times, like now. But normally she keeps to herself and accepts no namby-pamby nonsense from anyone she heads out with. And she heads out a lot."

He turned to me, and flashed a small smile. "So, what do you think of Jorrvaskr so far, new blood? The Companions?"

"I think," I said slowly, "That they're already more of a family to me than the one I actually had back in Rorikstead. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to like it here."

"Even with that smartmouth Breton?" Skjor's voice was cool as he mentioned Derrick.

"Trust me; my brothers are worse." _Much worse_. They believed that to become thieves was the only way of survival. I think it would lead to their downfalls, eventually, either by being tossed in prison or being executed. And I would be happy never to see them again in my life. But here...I had hope. I had a future. I was a Companion.

With thrill I repeated the words. I was a Companion.

I _am_ a Companion.

I am Aela the Huntress. And I am a Shield-Sibling. It seems I have found my path.

* * *

Dinner was actually pretty jolly. Every single Companion came to the table, and we sat down. I found myself sitting with Skjor and Eiwen, and at the end of the table, I was able to see everyone who sat along it, looking ludicrously like birds on a branch.

Kodlak took the centremost seat, with the members of the Circle fanning out on either side of him. I noticed then, sitting next to Orgmund, a man who I had never seen before, and who I had not heard about from Skjor. I turned to him and muttered, "Who's he?"

"Vignar Gray-Mane," said Skjor, who seemed to know who I was talking about.

"You never told me he was a Companion."

"Well..." Skjor made a yea-nay sign. "He's kind of a Companion. He serves alongside Kodlak but he's not an official Companion. He sleeps with his family in House Gray-Mane and doesn't always come to the table. And he doesn't go out a lot on jobs. Still, the support of the Gray-Manes is completely invaluable to us, particularly with Eorlund working up in the forge."

And then suddenly Kodlak rose to his feet, a mug of mead in hand.

"Brothers and sisters," he declared. "So ends another day." He raised his mug and looked over to where Aileen and Ornith sat. "I propose a toast, to the success of two of our Companions!"

Everyone around me lifted their flagons and rumbled, "To success!" And then they all downed a decent amount of mead.

"And before we begin our feast," Kodlak continued, "I wish to make welcome to our newest Companion, Aela!" He turned solemnly to me, and raised his flagon once more.

And around me, everyone lifted their flagon, and rumbled in one low voice, "Welcome!" And then they took a hearty swig. Beside me, Skjor was trying to drown himself in the mead, and I discreetly gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

"May our number continue to grow, and the valiant hearts that make up Jorrvaskr continue to burn brightly!" Kodlak cried.

And everyone lifted their flagons one more time, and echoed his words. This time, I joined them, raising my own flagon high. And then Kodlak sat down, and everyone dived on the food, and friendly chatter arose at the table as the Companions ate and drank.

And it was halfway through the meal, when some of the Nords began to get a little tipsy and led the whole of Jorrvaskr with several verses of Ragnar the Red, that I realized I was happy. There was content in my heart. And soon I forgot whatever unease I still had with being around so many strangers to even join in a few times with the songs, and laugh when Fang quietly stole a piece of seared slaughterfish off Skjor's plate and made off with his prize.

At last, I told myself, I was truly home.

* * *

**A/N: Aagh! I had quite a few experiences of writer's block with this chapter. Hopefully the next ones will be easier to write.**

**As always, review if you'd like to point something out to me. How do you like the early Companions?  
**


	11. Chapter 10 - Bandits in the Pale

**Welcome to Chapter Ten of The Huntress! To anyone who is reading this, I say THANK YOU! I have had over 170 views in the past 24 hours of uploading the Prologue and am utterly thrilled! *makes ecstatic face in front of the mirror***

**Sorry that this chapter is so long. I kind of wanted to cram a lot into it.  
**

**But enough of me. Let's see what Aela's up to, shall we?  
**

* * *

Chapter Ten

I walked slowly through the streets of Whiterun. Most of the people here already knew who I was now, and regarded me with increased respect. Guardsmen would nod when they saw me, and townsfolk would stare longer than needed. They would murmur "Companion" in respect for me.

But I had only been with them for a week.

I looked down at the small amulet that Eorlund had given me. It was shaped like a diamond, with a carving of the Gildergreen in the centre. Then I looked past the lines of homes and found a pathway leading to behind the houses, to the unused land there.

The cottage came near. Smoke curled up from the house roof. And the old woman leaned in front of the house on her stool, softly humming to herself, enjoying the warm sun.

She looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

"Ah, Companion," she murmured, and yet I heard her clearly. "Yes, I foresaw your coming to this day. And you have it?"

I wordlessly held up the amulet. Olava smiled.

"Ah, good, good. Bring it to me, my dear."

I handed her the amulet. Olava took it with steady hands, gazing at the soft light that fell over the amulet. Then she leaned forward a little. "So, my child. What is it that you seek from an old crone?"

"Eorlund wishes for insight," I said.

"Ah, of course he does." Olava gripped the amulet tightly. "But how far, how far into the future, will the Divines let me see?" she murmured, half to herself.

"Can you do it with the amulet?" I asked.

Olava nodded, her eyes closed now. "Forged by Eorlund's hand, still warm from the ashes, I can connect to the future that he fears to see," she mumbled, in a dreamlike state. Quietly I crouched. Skjor had told me many times of Olava, and her gift for insight, and that for a price she could tell the futures of those who approached her.

"I see...a great forge. The wings of a bird are its embrace," Olava began. "A great man works the fires of the forge of the sky. His heart is hollow with grief. Blood stains the lands he once knew, the blood not of Elves but of Nords. Two sides, a restless current, tugging at each other, always tugging, bringing with it the scents of blood and war. The waters of war lap against the hills of Whiterun but cannot overcome the walls that surround."

I shivered. I wanted to ask what she meant. But I knew that it was very unwise to interrupt a soothsayer when she was deep in trance. So I held my tongue and continued to listen.

"Yes...his son, his oldest, lost and unfound...lost to those who believe themselves the rightful rulers of Tamriel...but there is hope! Yes, there is hope. The lost Gray-Mane shall be found, and he shall return to the tides. The metals of the Skyforge will be needed more than ever...and let them melt and take great shape, the shape of the weapons of the Companions and all who call themselves loyal to this city. The steel will come swifter than before, as the hawk flies, and the bear awakens and faces the wolf."

Olava opened her eyes. "Oh...the future is so unclear to me. But the years to come will be grim."

"Olava, what did you mean, the bear faces the wolf?" I asked.

Olava shook her head in distress. "I cannot say, girl, I cannot say. The future is unclear. That is what I have seen. I hope that it is what the Gray-Mane has wanted."

Then suddenly she looked at me, as though seeing me in full light, and she murmured, "But _you_, my child. You have great aura. Your future, I can feel, will be great."

I stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Be still, child," murmured Olava. "Be still." Already in a trance-like state, she reached out to me with the palms of her hands and rested them upon my shoulders firmly. She closed her eyes, and dreamily she began to speak.

"Yes...yes, I see you, child. I see a great huntress, standing upon the pinnacle. She is alone, a child of the true hunters of this world, a daughter of the moon, promised to the great huntsman. Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch. Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved. Beware the anger that follows, for it will bring naught but grief in the end. In the fires of sorrow the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it."

Olava opened her eyes.

"You have a great and terrible destiny beyond you, child," she murmured to me, as I straightened. "And may you remember this, huntress, as you claim your kills, and whisper the name of your father."

"But I don't understand," I protested. "What do you mean? My father is dead!"

But Olava simply closed her eyes, placed her palms on her lap, and leaned back against the wall of her hut, humming a tune, and I knew that I was dismissed.

* * *

Eorlund looked puzzled. "I wasn't expecting quite a grim future."

"That's what she told me," I said earnestly. "Now, do you have my arrows ready?"

"Of course, of course." Eorlund handed me the quiver, containing fifty arrows with Skyforge steel heads. "Here. Try not to lose them; next time, no freebies. Got it?"

"Definitely." I slung the quiver over my shoulder and the bow over that. "Thanks, Eorlund. Give me a shout if you need any more favours done."

Eorlund shrugged, turning back to the mighty forge. I still felt shivers of awe whenever I looked up at the mighty stone sculpture of the bird that leaned over it.

I headed down from the Skyforge, wondering vaguely where Skjor was. Outside, I could hear two of the whelps sparring with one another, while Orgmund looked on critically, leaning on one of the posts that supported the overhang behind Jorrvaskr, and commenting loudly on their performance. I sighed in irritation; I was hoping to try out my new arrows. The whelps, however, were fighting right in front of the training dummies.

"Low swing, Aileen," Orgmund called. "You're holding it too low down in the hilt; tighten your grip, woman! Myllasa, you're the best at using your scimitar; prove it!"

I paused out of interest and for a moment watched as Myllasa swung her long, curved sword and smoothly knocked the shortsword from Aileen's grasp. It clattered across the cobblestone and out of reach. The bout was over. Myllasa looked imperiously at Orgmund and said, "There; good enough for you, you old bear?"

"Maybe," Orgmund grunted. Catching sight of me, he frowned, and I considered heading back to Jorrvaskr the long way around through the front door when Orgmund grunted, "Hey. You, girl. Got your new arrows yet?"

I scowled. "Yes. I hope it doesn't burn this time."

Orgmund's frown deepened, but he simply said, "I hope so, too. Samiith's looking for you."

"He is?" Surprise made me stop dead still.

"Well, if he wasn't, then I wouldn't be bothered speaking to you, whelp," grunted Orgmund. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and growled, "He's waiting for you in Jorrvaskr. And hurry it up; not wise to keep a member of the Circle waiting."

I wondered vaguely if Orgmund was having me on. No member of the Circle had wanted to speak with me since I first joined the Companions.

But he wasn't kidding. I headed inside, to see the Argonian warrior pacing restlessly near the table. The moment he heard the door click shut behind me, he looked up, and recognizing the one who entered to be me, he approached and said huskily, "Ah, good. You've received your new arrows at last."

I frowned. I was still annoyed about my silver arrows. "Your point...?"

Samiith hissed with a small bout of laughter. "Of course, of course. We have an assignment for you."

I brightened. "Really? Good, it's about time."

"Don't let your heart's fire cloud your judgement, Huntress," said Samiith, frowning at me sternly for a moment, before continuing. "Now this is only the beginning. We trust you enough to send you with another whelp; one, I hope, you remember quite well."

My Shield-Brother came up to me. "Glad to go hunting with you again," he grinned.

"Skjor," I remarked. _Well, I could have had a worse Shield-Brother._ "Did you know about this?"

Skjor shrugged. "Well, I knew since this morning. But we both know now, and we're both off to Fort Dunstad."

"What will we find there?" I asked.

"Bandits," replied Samiith. "Our task is to clear the fort."

Bandits? I glanced uncertainly at Samiith. "I've...never killed people before," I admitted.

"Then pretend they're not people," Skjor suggested. "Think of them as animals."

"That just makes it worse."

Samiith laid a scaled hand on my shoulder and looked at me firmly. "Aela Huntress," he said to me. "When you become a Companion, you are faced with duty. That is part of being a Companion; to do your duty without hesitation. That is why we stand here. We are here for Skyrim, to protect her people, even from people who choose to harm. And when you are given a contract, you are expected to fulfill it."

I sighed. "I know, I know. I kind of expected this. But I'm just not sure. I've never killed people before."

"The first kill which you make of a being on two legs is always the hardest," Samiith said to me. "But it grows easier when you remember that these are bandits who will kill and who will steal for their own gain. The world is better off without them."

I glanced at Skjor. Though he was a strong and capable warrior, I had my doubts. He still only had one eye, and I had never even left the Hold before in my life. "Just us two?" I asked.

Samiith nodded. "How you eliminate the bandits is up to you. But we expect to hear good news when you return. Failure is not an option. Do this contract, and you will earn respect from the Circle in Jorrvaskr, and some gold while you're at it."

Gold. Something I was in desperate need of. I nodded, accepting the contract.

"Very good," said Samiith, and his tail flicked as he moved his arm towards the door. "Off you go. Fort Dunstad is some days' journey away. It is best that you return within the week."

* * *

Snow. Something I had never seen before. I gazed around at it wonderingly, at the coolness of the air, the cold, wet slush that crunched beneath my boots, the tiny white snowflakes that lightly peppered my bare skin.

"The Pale's not the nicest place in the world to go," said Skjor. "Always cold, even for Nords."

"I didn't even realize that it could snow through Heartfire," I remarked.

"It snows all the time here in the Pale," replied Skjor. "Here, in this frozen wasteland, there's no such thing as seasons." To exemplify this, he waved his arm about, gesturing to the tall, alpine trees with the dark green branches, at the icicles that hung from the thick, brown bark, at the soft, white snow that now stretched anywhere and everywhere. "Quite different from the warmth and the grasslands of the Whiterun Hold, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. Call me naïve, a Nord who's never seen snow before."

"All right. You're naïve."

I glared at Skjor. "Being annoying already?"

"Why not?" Skjor flashed me a grin.

I marched slowly up to him. "You do remember that, two years ago, we made a deal; I could stick antlers to your head and go night-hunting if you didn't come back from Solitude in few days and tell me all that you knew about the meeting, when I was in Rorikstead."

"Well...you were unconscious, so I thought..."

I grinned. "You could have still told me. I didn't have to be awake to hear it."

"Now hang on," said Skjor, as he fell into step beside me. "I didn't agree to it. I said 'maybe'."

"And that was the last word you ever said to me until you met me in the Bannered Mare about ten days ago," I responded. I wondered exactly how near Fort Dunstad was now. We had been journeying for two days and I was starting to get pretty cold and tired. There was barely anything to hunt in the frozen tundra of the Pale. "So...I still have some right to stick antlers on your head."

Skjor looked uncertain. "Hopefully not. I think the Companions still need me."

He looked forward. "I think that's Fort Dunstad, just there," he said suddenly, pointing out something through the trees.

I squinted into the falling snow, to eventually see a dark, hazy shape at the edge of my vision. "So that's Fort Dunstad, huh?"

The fort was very large and impressively built, even from what I could see of it. I shrugged the bow from my shoulder and gripped it tightly. I strode towards it with more intent. Right: let's kill some bandits. Then I felt Skjor's light touch on my shoulder and looked back into his one eye.

"Stay in the trees," he murmured. "We need to plan."

Without protest I followed Skjor to a small clump of frozen trees and crouched down amongst the icy trunks. I had never seen Skjor look so serious before, his face unsmiling, his good eye squinted in a half-frown. He almost reminded me of Taija. Almost.

"So, how are we going to tackle them?" I asked. I realized that I was feeling pretty apprehensive. I hadn't trained for anything like this.

"Simple. We draw them out into the snow."

I stared at him. "That's your plan?"

"Correction; I draw them out into the snow. Pretend I'm a lost mercenary," said Skjor. "You hide in the trees. I hope your marksmanship skills are up to scratch because you're going to have to be using them."

"So, basically, you wander up to Fort Dunstad and pound on the door and wait for the bandits to come out, and you expect me, who's never killed a human, Elf or crossbreed before, to take them all out? Really great. I can see I'm going to go real far in the Companions."

"Please, I have no time for sarcasm today, Aela. Let's save it until after the job's finished." Skjor gave me an earnest glance. "And remember; I've done stuff like this before. I've cleared out old forts and beast warrens with Shield-Siblings at my back. And you won't be taking all of them out. When the bandits realize they're under attack, they'll begin to fight."

"And then you're going to be fighting them all sword-to-sword?"

"I haven't finished the plan yet, Aela, so shut up at listen."

I shut up and listened.

"At that time, you'll come out of the forest and avert their attention by cutting a few more of them down. Because you're ranged, most may have to come towards you, and in snow this thick it'll be difficult for them to get too close to you." Skjor suddenly began to unwind something from around his body I hadn't actually noticed until just now, and when he handed it to me, I saw that it was the sheath for a dagger. With the dagger inside.

"This is for if they do get too close for you," said Skjor, as I took it. "In fact, just keep the thing. I don't really use daggers, not when I've got a trusty sword at my side."

"And how long have you owned this dagger, without me noticing it once?" I inquired as dryly as I could manage, as I strapped the dagger to my side.

"You just don't look hard enough. And I'm the one meant to be half-blind." Skjor chuckled.

I unsheathed the dagger. It was made of solid steel, larger and heavier than my skinning knife but also a lot more deadly. I gave it a few experimental swings, decided it was good enough, and promptly sheathed it again. "Just one question," I said.

"Fine."

"What if there are marksmen as well?"

Skjor looked at me. "You've got trees for shelter. Make the most of it."

"And...what if the bandits don't all come charging out?" I found another loophole in his plan.

"Then I'll keep bugging them till they do; it can't be very interesting, standing guard in a fort that's completely in the middle of nowhere," replied Skjor. "So they'll probably want to have as much 'fun' with me as possible. They don't realize that they're all about to get massacred."

I exhaled slowly, gripping the bow tightly. "Okay."

Skjor rested a hand on my shoulder. "You ready to start delivering honour to the Companions' name?"

I nodded. _I hope so..._

Skjor flashed me a grin. "Then let's go."

* * *

I watched as Skjor walked boldly out into the snow, heading towards the fort. From where I crouched behind the tree, I felt notoriously like a coward. But Skjor's plan seemed to make perfect sense to my buzzing mind, now that it was being put into action.

Most of the snowfall was beginning to thin. I could see Fort Dunstad more clearly now. And even make out a few silhouettes standing atop the walls of the abandoned fort. I peered through the falling snowflakes, trying to determine if they were archers or not.

I already had an arrow out. It was knocked to the bowstring. All I had to do, as soon as Skjor was in too much danger, I straighten, pull, aim, release.

In a way, I told myself, this was just like hunting. And these bandits were probably no better than animals, anyway. Living in an old fort like thieves. At the internal mention of the word, I thought of my brothers, Lokir and Ulfgar. I wondered if they had run away from Rorikstead before the Heartfire harvest as I had.

Then I heard a shout break the ringing silence.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, boy."

Skjor stopped, and said in his most convincing lost-alone-and-hungry tone of voice, "Please...I'm so tired..."

"Yeah?" came the voice again. It was faint, but I could still hear the words. "Well, let's bring him in for some hot grub, eh, boys?"

I heard sickening, hooting laughter from within the fort, carried dismally by an icy breeze that whipped at my face. I watched as suddenly the gates to the fort swung open, and about four shapes come charging out. Skjor took one look at them, turned, stumbled back through the snow, fell. The bandits laughed cruelly as they caught up and surrounded him.

"Lookee here, boys," said the same speaker. "Looks like we've got ourselves a hero."

I gritted my teeth in anger. No; these bandits weren't like animals. They were worse. For a moment, I forgot that Skjor was a Companion and more than able to defend himself. Looking back towards the fort, I saw three more bandits emerge.

Were these all of them? I knew that Skjor was relying on me.

"Please, have mercy," I heard Skjor say, in his most convincing, desperate voice.

"Shut up, hero," snarled the bandit who had spoken earlier, and kicked a wad of snow into Skjor's face. His friends guffawed stupidly.

I narrowed my eyes in pure hate at the bandit. I began to make out his features. He wore iron armour, and a large, steel, curly-horned helmet on top of his big, square-shaped head. By the sound of his voice, I guessed that he was an Orc, though I couldn't be sure; I hadn't seen an Orc before, but I heard that they always spoke low and rough, and had prominent underbites.

I rose, lifting and aiming carefully. Waiting for the next breeze to pass. The bandits were starting to get too rough with Skjor. Time to end this. Now.

I aimed, narrowed my eyes. I fired.

The arrow whistled through the air with more accuracy than I could have dreamed. It punctured the Orc's throat.

His eyes must have widened. He gargled, took half a step back, his weapon falling out of his hands. And then he tripped and collapsed onto his back and didn't rise.

A split second passed, when nothing had happened at all. And in that split second, time seemed to slow down. A slow, steady feeling began to cloud my mind. I had just killed my first being. I had slain him, before he had a chance to know I was there. Like a professional huntress, the professional I was. But...that Orc...could he have once been normal, a genuine townsperson? He could have had a family, far away. He could even have had a love in his life. And all of that had been stolen away from him...his life gone, escaped his body...by me...

The three other bandits looked confused for a second. They looked towards the trees. Almost at once the misty mind-numbing cloud of countless emotions I had been feeling disappeared, and I had another arrow readied, terror for Skjor mounting. The second arrow sang from my bow without me really aiming. I didn't need to. My hands had acted on their own accord, and before I realized it, another bandit lay dead in the snow with the arrow sticking from where it had punctured the armour on his chest.

"Check the trees, damnit! Check the trees!" one of the remaining bandits yelled in panic.

Almost at once Skjor kicked out; the bandit fell. The Companion leapt to his feet, drew his sword, and collided in combat with the fourth bandit who had tormented him.

As for me...I straightened. I drew another arrow. The three bandits who had stood near the entranceway to the Fort were now heading towards the trees, towards me, though as Skjor predicted, they were having a hard time with the snow. I pulled back the arrow, stepped around from the side of the tree, and fired—straight into the chest of one of the bandits. She looked startled for a moment, and then she collapsed into the snow, already dead.

The two other bandits who I saw I had to fight, now without the element of surprise, were also archers. Oh, perfect. Why didn't I take them out first?

With practiced ease they drew their own arrows, put them to the strings of their longbows, and prepared to fire. I barely managed to save myself. I ducked behind a tree and heard the two _thuks_ as the arrows collided with the tree trunk.

A nameless sense, a kind of fury, was filling my mind, swarming my every move. My fingers leapt up to the quiver on my back, yanked out another arrow. I knocked it to the bowstring with savage ease and leapt out from behind the tree, and aimed. They also had their arrows readied. I took aim for the nearest and fired, at the same time they fired their own.

I didn't have time to think. I threw myself down onto the snow. The arrows whisked just above me, so close that I swear the feathered ends brushed the armour on my back. I heard a scream of pain from one of the archer-bandits and knew that my arrow had met its mark, but not enough to kill him straight off. Quickly I pushed myself up off the snow and ducked behind another tree as a third arrow shot past.

Too close. They were getting nearer. I tugged out an arrow. I knocked it to the bowstring. I peered around the edge of the tree to check where the archer-bandits were. In the single, brief glance I had of them, I saw that the one I had struck was plucking out the arrow; the other let hers fly the instant my head came around the corner. I jerked it back in time to see the arrow whisk past my nose.

Shit. Too close. I heard crunching footsteps and knew there wasn't enough time to try and fire again. I quickly sheathed my arrow. Remembering the dagger at my side, I hugged the bow to my left , and slowly, gently, drew out my close-range weapon.

I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't a warrior. Most likely this archer-bandit who had now nearly neared me was going to rip my guts out. But I, at least, had to try to defend myself. I gritted my teeth and waited, hearing the bandit draw nearer. I heard the soft metallic sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

And then the adrenalized sense within me burned with more intensity than ever before. With a scream I threw myself around from the edge of the tree. My dagger made contact with the sword, which the archer-bandit had only just managed to throw up in time.

We held. We looked for a moment into each other's eyes, sizing each other up. She was a Bosmer, I realized, though she looked nothing like Eiwen. Her hair was moon-white, and twisted into a loose bun behind her more oval face. Moon-like warpaint, coloured sun-golden, stretched over her forehead, across her hazel eyes and her cheeks.

And then we broke away from each other. The Bosmer fell back and then charged, sword raised. I lifted the dagger, threw the bow aside, and spun away from her, and the blades clattered together, sending a shower of sparks into the frosty air. She pushed forward and I stumbled out of the block, and then she raised her sword, ready to bring it crashing down on my neck.

But that nameless sense really was roaring now. I rolled backwards across the snow and the blade slammed down on nothing but fallen snowflakes. The Bosmer let out a hiss of frustration as she lifted the sword once more. Peppered in snowflakes, I straightened, ready to meet the Bosmer in swordplay once again.

She charged. I raised the dagger, and blocked the bow. I threw her off to one side and pressed, but she whipped around and countered the blow. I barely thought. I simply acted. My hands seemed to know what they were doing, even though I had never once fought blade-to-blade with anyone before.

I twisted and spun. The dagger whirled through the air faster than I could have dreamed. But each time I tried to strike the Bosmer her blade would be there, intercepting my own. Each time she thrusted forward, I would swing around and use the dagger to block, to push the killing blow aside.

And then suddenly I felt something slam with great force onto my shoulder. I gasped with the impact, and stumbled clumsily forward. I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know it was an arrow. It had pierced through my armour with the intensity of the deliverance. I glanced briefly over my shoulder to see who had fired it. The second archer-bandit, who I remembered had only been wounded, not killed, was readying a second arrow.

Then I jerked forward as the Bosmer charged. I raised the dagger. It crashed down with all the strength that the Bosmer had, and it was enough to make me fall; either my arms were too tired to accept the punishment of the blow, or she had given all she had in the brief distraction that had momentarily disconcerted me.

I collapsed onto the snow. The dagger flew out of my grasp. Without hesitation, the Bosmer charged once more, the blade poised above my heart. Too exhausted to even attempt to roll, I closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain and then the darkness that was going to follow.

And then there was a roar from above me, a beastlike roar, and suddenly the Bosmer screamed. I opened my eyes to see Skjor meeting blade-on-blade with the Bosmer, driving her away. I was amazed at the way Skjor's blade moved; I could barely see it. And in a matter of moments, the Bosmer was lying at his mercy, which he did not deliver. Within moments her life escaped her, and her lifeblood began to pool on the snow around her.

"Aela!" Skjor whirled around, his eye frantic with panic. "Are you all right?"

I didn't hear. I looked back towards the wounded archer-bandit. The bow was raised. The last one left. I screamed a warning to Skjor, and the arrow sang. He didn't move out of the way in time, but there was no need to. Suddenly his blade swept upwards, and the arrowhead slammed into the flat face of his sword, instead of his heart.

"My bow!" I cried. "Get my bow!"

I pushed myself to my knees. Skjor found and threw the bow towards me. I caught it in the air, and tugged an arrow from the quiver. I didn't think, didn't hesitate. I aimed and fired. The wounded archer-bandit didn't get out of the way in time, nor did he block the arrow. It sank into his chest. The force of the arrow's flight sent him sprawling backwards in the snow.

And then...it was over. I realized it was over.

Quickly Skjor was at my side, helping me to my feet. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eye a shining pit of panic. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Skjor," I said, gently pushing his hands away. "I'm fine, seriously," I added, seeing Skjor's completely disbelieving face.

"You've got an arrow in your back and you're fine," Skjor said dryly, with a touch of his old attitude.

Oh, yes. The arrow in my shoulder. I didn't feel any pain, however. I glanced over my shoulder, and with my free hand, I tugged out the arrow, and realized that I was completely unhurt. "It's fine; the shoulder pauldron armour was too thick for it to penetrate fully," I said to Skjor, investigating the arrow. It was a simple steel arrow, but still in good condition. I put it in my quiver. "But what about you? Are you injured?"

Skjor shook his head. "Only a bruise here and there." He looked carefully at me. "You did a very good job, Aela. I'll say this now."

Had I? I had barely thought about how well I was doing. All I knew was that I had to survive.

"You were incredible," Skjor continued, his voice reverent now. "Particularly with the blade. You've never had any sword training in your life and you were fighting like an expert."

Despite myself, I said, "Not a professional?"

"Not yet; but you just wait until the others hear of this. You're a born warrior as well as a huntress, Aela. A bit of training and you can match even me in combat." I was pretty sure that there was respect glittering like rubies in Skjor's good eye, and I turned away sharply.

"I was just doing my duty," I muttered. "And unless you don't shut up about me and take some credit for yourself, I _will_ stick antlers on your head."

Skjor chuckled. "You're fiery even when you're humble. I haven't met anyone quite like you, Aela."

I glanced sharply up at his words before I could stop myself, but Skjor already has his back turned to me. He was marching across the snow towards some of the fallen corpses. "I'll help get some of your arrows, if you'll accept my help," he called.

I simply nodded, knowing he couldn't see me. But the way he had said...no, I must have imagined it. I gave myself a thorough mental shake. The inner sense that had given me strength flickered and died away. But my mind was fizzing like a barrel of shaken beer.

_I haven't met anyone quite like you, Aela._

It wasn't what he had said that irked me. It was the way that he had said it. Something more than respect. Something a little more than praise.

Something that sounded all too good to my ears for me to forget so easily.

END OF PART ONE

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**A/N: So that was Aela's first contract. Do you think she was right to feel remorse to the Orc bandit who became her first being kill?  
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**I really wanted Olava to tell Aela's future in this chapter. For those who have finished the Companions questline, I'm pretty sure you'll be able to figure out the cryptic messages. If not...to be left for you and Aela to find out.  
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**Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaase review!  
**

**Coming soon: A Beast in Falkreath...set three months after Bandits in the Pale. Will have it uploaded (hopefully) tonight.  
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	12. Chapter 11 - A Beast in Falkreath

PART TWO: MAKING PROGRESS

Chapter Eleven

Kodlak eyed me solemnly from over the table. He rose from his seat, and lifted his mug of ale, and announced to the gathered Companions, "Tonight, we celebrate another success from our most recent Companion to join the mead hall of Jorrvaskr." He looked at me dead in the eye, and announced, "To Aela's success!"

The Companions gathered at the table all raised their flagons. "To success!" they cried, and drank deep.

I couldn't help but glance across the table to where Derrick sat. He gave me a glance that could have been jealousy, and only half-raised his flagon in cheer, and didn't drink at all.

"We'll remember that the next time you have success on a solo mission," muttered Eiwen beside me, as she set down her flagon. Clearly, my Bosmer friend had noticed Derrick's less-than-welcoming cheer as well.

That was all from Kodlak that night. We all pounced on the food and ate. And I couldn't stop myself from grinning most of the time. It was Evening Star, now; three months since my first contract, and I had gone far in the Companions, enough for even Orgmund to nod casually at my passing whenever our paths crossed. In the three months I had taken over ten jobs, seven with Shield-Siblings, and three solo.

I was no longer that simple-headed naïve girl from Rorikstead who had first come into Jorrvaskr in Heartfire. Now I had a clearer sense of myself; and letting my feistiness show through once in a while. Plus, well, I had a nice bit of gold saved up now. I was a Companion. And I was no longer afraid of killing beings.

After supper, most Companions retired to bed. I was tired out from my most recently-completed contract, clearing out Graywinter Watch of a full-grown cave bear which had made its nest near the road and was ambushing travellers, and I knew that a good Companion had to be ready, and take every opportunity to replenish her strength. I was even learning pearls of wisdom from my Shield-Siblings now, similar to the snippets of wisdom my old mentor Panjor had given me for hunting.

But I was feeling restless. I had not hunted in five days. I headed outside of Jorrvaskr and looked up at the rising moon. It was a clear night, the air sharp and cold and biting, but I barely felt the cool. I barely remembered my old life, and completely savoured the new one I had made for myself, and I smiled. Not with my lips. But with my eyes.

Soon I found myself heading around to the front of Jorrvaskr and heading down past the Gildergreen. Heading towards the city gates. By now the city was pretty quiet and empty, but the wilds of Skyrim would be teeming with life.

Tonight I would hunt. Hulda would be pleased with some fresh venison in the morning.

I had nearly reached the gate when I heard a voice say behind me, "Where are you off to?"

I glanced over my shoulder. Skjor was there, wearing a broad grin.

"What are you doing here, Skjor?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"No." Skjor walked towards me. "I can't rest thinking about you stealing away into the dead of night without telling anyone."

"I can take care of myself. I'll be back at dawn." I turned to keep heading on my way, but I felt a hand land on my shoulder, and force me to stop.

"How do you know I don't feel like hunting to night, either?" asked Skjor softly.

Thank goodness there was no guard at the gates tonight. I looked at Skjor, and frowned in consideration, letting him hang for a moment. Then I said, "If you can keep up. And if you're quiet, that is."

Memory flashed in Skjor's eyes. I had said those words to him the first time we had met—and me not knowing that he was a pretty skilled hunter himself. "I'll see what I can do," he said, falling into step beside me. "But no antler-sticking. Got it?"

"Maybe." I narrowed my eyes, wondering how Skjor would look with antlers.

We headed out of Whiterun and down towards the stables. Soon I could hear the snorting of horses, the occasional hoof stomping on the ground, and I soon turned and started heading across the grassy plains. Skjor effortlessly kept up with me.

"Where are we heading tonight, boss?" asked Skjor.

I paused, deciding, looking around. "Wherever the first tracks lead us," I decided.

"The person to find the first tracks gets a free mead from the other," said Skjor.

I grinned. "Deal."

We spread out. After a few minutes of searching, I heard Skjor call, "Got one! One mead on me!"

I didn't believe him. "Show me." I bounded lightly over towards where he was standing.

He pointed out tracks faintly outlined in the dust. I ducked down wordlessly, and carefully looked over the tracks.

I frowned.

"This doesn't seem to be like anything I've ever seen before," I muttered, completely bemused.

"Why? What's up?" Skjor sounded puzzled.

"Look." I shuffled over until Skjor could bend down and look over the tracks he had discovered himself. "They...they're really bizarre. They're unlike anything I've ever seen before. Like...really big wolf footprints, almost."

Skjor looked critically at the footprint in the dust. "What sort of wolf has a footprint seven inches long and four inches wide? You sure it's not a sabre cat footprint?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Panjor had never shown me this marking. Not once. And he knew every single animal in Skyrim. I straightened. "A mystery," I said quietly. "Which I, a master huntress, have no answer to."

Skjor glanced at me. "Should we follow the tracks?"

I hesitated. If what I was reading was correct, then this footprint was from a massive creature. Not as massive as a mammoth or a giant, but something pretty damned big nonetheless. But...Skjor had found the tracks. And we were hunting. _A good hunter never misses a ripe opportunity, if it presents itself right beneath her nose._ Panjor's words echoed in my ears.

"All right," I said. "But the footprint's pointed south. Whatever this creature is, it's headed towards Falkreath."

"Looks like that's our destination," commented Skjor.

The moon slowly rose higher and higher above us. The tracks, I noticed, though I didn't recognize them to be of a creature, I recognized them to be fresh. And fairly more noticeable than other tracks I knew, because of their sheer size. I barely needed to stop. I just needed to follow the dots. And Skjor, who wasn't as lightly-armoured as I was, was beginning to struggle to keep up (to my satisfaction).

The giant pawprints wound around Pelagia farm, heading up towards what I recognized to be Bleak Falls Barrow at the top of the mountain. I knew that this animal was pretty big; not only were the pawprints the biggest markings on the ground I had ever seen (second to giant and mammoth tracks), but the spaces between each couple of pawprints were about three metres wide, which suggested the creature could bound with astonishing speed.

Gradually the pawprints began to become more clearly outlined as we climbed the more mountainous trail to Bleak Falls Barrow. I was completely and fully awake now; the pawprints of the beast were growing evidently fresher and fresher. I suspected we were only just behind it, whatever it was.

"Be careful," I warned Skjor, as we neared the Barrow, and he caught up with me. "Last I heard, some bandits have taken up residence here. We may have to fight our way through."

Skjor breathed heavily, but he patted the hilt of his sword in a reassuring kind of way and muttered, "Lead on, boss."

"And stop calling me that."

"Fine, boss."

The tracks were definitely growing fresher, the pawprints more packed together. The beast had slowed down in its steps, not running quite as fast as before. In the snows of the mountain, fallen more heavily as winter had only just begun, the pawprints were clearly outlined, and the clear night meant no new snowfall would cover the tracks for a long time. Excitement was beginning to pulse in my chest. It was almost like a follow-the-tracks challenge that, in the past, Panjor had often set me, with a prize at the end of the trails he laid and that I would receive if I followed the trail correctly.

Only this time it was for real. The prize was this beast, and I was pretty sure that if it was pawed and this big, it was probably going to be deadly.

We drew near the Barrow. Any moment, I expected the bandits at the top to spot me and Skjor, dark blobs moving against the white snow, and raise the alarm. Any moment I expected to be pelted with arrows. But instead...silence was all I heard. Only night's cold chill stung me.

I glanced at Skjor. The silence seemed to unnerve him as well.

We climbed up the slick stone steps, covered with decades of unthawed ice, shivering a little from the intense cold here. But suddenly, I completely forgot my cold, as I reached the top of the platform and surveyed the scene before me.

"By the Gods..." my voice died.

"Mara preserve us..." Skjor's voice choked.

Blood splattered the snow. It had been churned too restlessly for the wind to have done it. And the corpses. The corpses of dead men and women were strewn everywhere. Torn apart. Bloodstains everywhere. Bits of skin and flesh and bone scattered from where it had originally come from.

Slowly, stunned, I walked forward, simply amazed that any creature could completely mutilate these people. Had they once been living and breathing? They had to have been, barely an hour ago. Half an hour ago, even. I looked slowly around, taking in the scene. Half-buried arrows and worn blades suggested that the bandits had tried to kill the creature before it slaughtered them. They had failed. Now there was nothing left of them but...blood, bodies torn apart and so hideously savaged that they were completely unrecognizable.

Outlined very clearly amidst the bloody snow here were the same gigantic pawprints.

"Shor's bones..." I didn't even know what to say.

Skjor did, though. "We've got to let the Harbinger know. Immediately."

I said nothing. I barely heard.

"Whatever killed these bandits, we can't take down on our own!" Skjor insisted, taking a step forwards towards me, nearly tripping over a half-buried limb. "This beast is obviously beyond our power alone to handle."

Now I heard him. I nodded, jerking back abruptly from my horror and to businesslike state-of-mind. "Right. But we should try and find out where the beast is. What if that thing's near Riverwood? It could be killing the townspeople!"

"I doubt it. I don't hear anything." Anxiety played on Skjor's face. "But we should check, just to be safe. Where do the pawprints lead? You're the best at uncovering them."

I barely comprehended the compliment. Stiffly I walked forward, crouching near the nearest set of pawprints. "They're...indistinguishable," I muttered.

It was quite a while before I finally managed to find a separate trail. The beast had fed and then moved on. To my dismay, down the hill. It seemed to have jumped right off the edge of the platform and down into the trees, by the way the pawprints abruptly ended.

"So it jumped down the hill and vanished into the forest," Skjor summed up, noticing the tracks himself, and looking out at the forests of Falkreath far beyond. "By the way that the pawprints are aiming, we can conclude that it was heading west, towards Lake Ilinata. I think Riverwood's safe, and the creature...it's just headed further west. Maybe it'll even go right past Helgen and Falkreath, just hide in the woods."

I shuddered at the thought of encountering that beast. "But wherever it runs it'll eventually run into some other settlement..." at the speed that the beast could travel, I knew that it was well able to run the lengths of Holds in a single night. What if...what if it reached Rorikstead?

The very thought made fear drop like a stone into my gut. I didn't like the people in Rorikstead but even so, they were innocent people, hardworking, just too simple for my kind of liking. If anything threatened Rorikstead, who only had about four guards for defense, the people would be completely helpless.

I turned abruptly away from the platform. "Come on," I ordered Skjor briskly. Trying to ignore the terrible carnage that surrounded me, I passed back over Bleak Falls Barrow and set off at a run back down the slope.

* * *

By the time we returned to Jorrvaskr it was predawn and I was too tired to think. So was Skjor. We climbed wearily up the steps and slipped indoors, Skjor muttering, "You still owe me a drink."

Jorrvaskr was silent and empty. I headed over to the nearest chair and sank down near the fire, warming my exhausted body, feeling a trickle of energy creep back into my tired limbs.

Skjor sat down beside me and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Gods...I don't think I'll ever forget tonight."

"Neither," I agreed. But the huntress part of me was wide awake. I couldn't help but think, what would Panjor have done, if he had discovered the trail of this monstrous beast? Would he have continued to follow it, tracking it through Falkreath? Or would he have turned back and called for aid?

I began to reason with myself, staring into the flickering depths of the fire. I didn't have any traps, so I couldn't have slowed the beast down. I didn't know where it was exactly heading, so I couldn't ambush it in advance. And it was a lethal killing machine, and (to my assumption) at least six to seven feet high. If five or six bandits hadn't been able to take down the beast then me and Skjor certainly couldn't have. We'd have simply been ripped apart and devoured by the beast if we had discovered its whereabouts. And that would have done utterly no good at all.

"Since when," I muttered aloud, "has a beast that size walked Skyrim's plains?"

Skjor shrugged, and stifled a yawn.

The door banged shut. I sat up as though stung by a wasp. We weren't the only ones to come back to Jorrvaskr late, it seemed. Orgmund stumbled wearily indoors, and stopped rock-still when he saw me and Skjor watching him.

"What are you doing up so early?" Orgmund grunted.

"Came back from a night hunt," said Skjor, standing up, his eye round with alarm. "By the Gods, Orgmund. What happened to you?"

I understood what Skjor was saying. Orgmund was grey with exhaustion, his eyes unusually bright and faintly-golden, a speck of blood on his lips. He walked as if every step was difficult, and he was slightly hunched. His clothes, noticeably, were in pieces, lying tattered around him.

"I...got into a fight," said Orgmund, through a yawn. "Some...nngh...smart-mouth in the Bannered Mare boasted he could take me on."

"Why were you at the Bannered Mare so early in the morning?" I asked.

Orgmund glared suspiciously at me and muttered, "Couldn't sleep. What's it to you, whelp?"

I frowned, rising to my feet, and walking slowly towards Orgmund. "Why is because there's some monster outside the city walls," I said to him. "We found its tracks while me and Skjor were out night-hunting. It led all the way up to Bleak Falls Barrow. The bandits living up there? Dead: torn apart by some creature neither Skjor or I have ever encountered before."

Alarm flared suddenly in Orgmund's eyes. He straightened up as much as he could. "Where did the tracks lead?" he demanded.

Finally, he was taking an interest. "Into the forests around Falkreath; the beast is still out there," I responded. "And it sounds formidable. If it could rip apart five bandits, it could tear the entire Companions apart."

Orgmund frowned. "I doubt that will happen," he growled.

Skjor looked closely at Orgmund. "How can you be sure?"

"Never you mind," snapped Orgmund. Turning back towards me, he said gruffly, "Just go to your rooms. I'll have a word with Kodlak about this 'beast' you found."

"I'll tell him," I said firmly. "Me and Skjor. We followed the beast. We saw clearly the carnage it did."

Was I mistaken? Did fear shadow Orgmund's face? Perhaps the beast threat was more serious than I thought. Then his face hardened and whatever emotion he had felt disappeared, and he said, "You don't talk back to a member of the Circle, new blood," he growled. "And I gave you a clear instruction. Go. To. Your. Room."

"You're not my parent." I folded my arms. "You may be my senior. But I have more evidence in this regard."

Orgmund's face darkened. His eyes seemed to glow brighter. Then, he smiled. And I couldn't help but notice...did his teeth look a little more yellow than usual? A bit more...pointed? "You've quite the attitude, Huntress," he said. Straightening up a little more so he was looking down at me, Orgmund added, "But you'll always be impertinent in my eyes. Now, I'll say this once more. Go back to your rooms. I'll inform Kodlak, thank you very much. He won't appreciate being roused this early in the morning by a couple of whelps."

_Whelps_. The name was beginning to sting like a whip-lash, each time I heard it used and directed towards me and Skjor. I stiffened in anger. I wasn't a whelp. I was Aela, a huntress who had seen the evidence of the beast with my own eyes! But there was no arguing with Orgmund once his mind was set. With obvious frustration, I stiffly nodded and walked slowly away from Orgmund. Skjor fell into step beside me, looking quite relieved to be sent to bed. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes.

I swore as we crossed the room, I heard Orgmund mutter, "Need to be more careful next time."

But already I was half-asleep. I must have imagined it.

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**A/N: I thought over all of the members of the Circle for several long and anxious minutes, trying to decide who was going to be the bad guy, and decided on Orgmund. Post me a review, I can't make a decision: should Orgmund be a good or an evil Companion in the future? (might add some drama later on) And feel free to post me anything you like.  
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**If you like Aela's story keep reading, I should be getting up at least one chapter a day, or two if it's the weekend.  
**


	13. Chapter 12 - Lost & Found, Part 1

**A/N: Chapter Twelve and Thirteen were originally one chapter, but I decided to split them, because I don't think you guys would appreciate reading a seriously long chapter. So they're around standard-sized chapters (compared with the lengths of previous) and I hope you enjoy: Chapters Thirteen and Fourteen-to-come focus mainly on two characters most people who have played the Companions will know.**

**Enjoy!  
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* * *

Chapter Twelve

Taija is dead.

I looked up sharply. The door to Jorrvaskr closed shut, echoing through the room which had suddenly silenced of chatter.

We all saw Ornith. He stood there, his crimson eyes half-closed in grief, his ash-grey skin pale around his face. He had a fresh cut on one arm and a bruise swelling beneath one eye. But the strongest wound that we could see on him was grief.

"Taija is dead," he repeated.

And now, horrified voices began to echo around Jorrvaskr.

"Taija, dead?"

"How? What happened?"

"Someone tell Kodlak right away."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lemaat rise and hurry away from where he had been sitting with his sister. Probably to fetch the members of the Circle, wherever they were.

Fang let out a long, mournful howl. Aileen quickly rose to her feet and hurried to Ornith's side. The Dunmer warrior relaxed against her, letting her lead him to the nearest bench. She glanced at her brother, Derrick, who was standing numb with shock nearby. "Run and fetch my healing supplies," she ordered him.

Derrick was gone like the wind.

Already most of the whelps were gathering around Ornith as he sat on the bench, his eyes round and unseeing with shock and with grief. Quickly I rose to my feet and went to join them.

"Gods," breathed Skjor beside me. I glanced at him; his face was solemn and grey. "Taija, gone? I can't believe it!"

"Nobody can," Eiwen muttered. Her eyes were round with shock.

"How did she die? What killed her?" asked Myllasa urgently.

Ornith slowly shook his head, too troubled to speak. Fang sidled through the crowd, sat loyally beside Ornith, and rested his shaggy head on the Dunmer's lap.

I realized something... "Where are your blades, Ornith?"

His twin swords...they were missing. They weren't slung over his back anymore. Around me, my fellow whelps began to murmur the same. It was common knowledge that Ornith's twin Katanas were his pride and joy. He let nobody touch them, and never slept without them locked securely in his trunk. But the two sheaths strapped on his back were...empty. There were no blades.

"Lost," murmured Ornith. "They're lost. Like Taija."

Suddenly Derrick was pushing his way back through the crowd. He pushed past Myllasa and Skjor and made it to his sister's side. Wordlessly Aileen took them, uncorked the stopper and forced them into Ornith's trembling hands. "Drink," she urged. "It'll help."

"I don't think...it'll help...from what I saw," muttered Ornith. But he drank obligingly.

I looked around. Where were the Circle? Had they retired to another meeting? They were always doing that these days.

And then suddenly they burst in, opening the doors. We looked around. They were all there, headed by Kodlak, his face tight. Lemaat jogged just behind, Orgmund beside him, Samiith bringing up the rear, horror evident on the Argonian's face.

"Everyone, out of the way!" Kodlak commanded. His voice was like thunder. And everyone moved out of the way, except for Fang, who stayed protectively beside Ornith, and Aileen, who seemed to have taken it to her mind that she was Ornith's personal supporter.

"What's this about Taija being dead?" growled Orgmund.

"She can't be dead!" Samiith was slowly shaking his head in complete disbelief. "She just _can't_ be..."

Kodlak crouched down in front of Ornith and grasped the Dunmer's hands firmly. He waited until Ornith slowly looked up and focused upon his Harbinger. And then, in a quiet, low voice, he said, "Ornith, what happened?"

Everyone was listening now. The silence was almost thickening like treacle. I stayed close to Skjor, hardly daring to believe that the hard-nosed, strong-willed woman I had only seen occasionally around Jorrvaskr...was gone.

Ornith took a deep, shuddering breath, and murmured, "It...it was too fast. She...I mean, they...they came. Yes, there were many of them. So many." He closed his eyes for a moment, and shivered, as if he were reliving the terrible scene before his eyes once again.

Fang let out a soft, whining whimper.

"Who were they?" asked Kodlak, in that same low voice, which was both quiet and determined. "Speak, boy. Who were they? The ones who killed Taija?"

Ornith slowly opened his eyes.

"They...they called themselves...the Silver Hand."

* * *

I heard the steady drone of rain pattering outside. Skjor had been gone for over an hour.

I leaned a little more against the pillaring. Nobody knew why Kodlak had suddenly called Skjor aside. They had gone down into the undercroft together, and even the Circle weren't with them. How I knew; Samiith was out with Myllasa and Derrick on a particularly dangerous hire, somewhere way up in the frozen peaks of Winterhold, Orgmund was drowning himself with mead at the table, and Lemaat was speaking quietly with Ornith.

I frowned. The Dunmer hadn't been right since Taija's death. I had known Ornith to be no-nonsense, sincere and strict and firm, rarely friendly or kind but nice enough to talk to, when you got past his seriousness. He was careful-minded, quiet and thoughtful, and deadly with blades. Eorlund had forged Ornith two new swords though they weren't as light or as strong as his two lost Katanas, though he used them without complaint. The Dunmer never did any solo contracts anymore.

Whenever I asked, Aileen would assure me that he was still suffering from the shock of seeing Taija killed right before his eyes. He would recover, she'd say. But I'd see the look in her eyes and seen defeat and I knew he would never recover.

I closed my eyes. Today...what was today? Twelfth of Rain's Hand.

I opened my eyes. Lokir's birthday.

How come I had not remembered? Then, perhaps I had not wanted to remember.

It was hard to believe that I had spent over seven months here already. Seven months ago I had finished my training as a Huntress. Seven months ago I had run away from Rorikstead. Seven months ago, I had first come to Whiterun, and become a member of the Companions. Today Lokir would be sixteen. A week or so later, Ulfgar would be seventeen.

Idly I found myself wondering: had they left Rorikstead? I had not seen them during my walks around Whiterun, so I knew that they had come here. I don't think I would have wanted to see them here, anyway. Perhaps they had headed northward, towards Solitude, or even east to Markarth. Maybe they had discovered honest lives as miners.

I jerked out of my thoughts as I heard the door to the undercroft suddenly creak open, and then snap shut. I pushed myself off the wooden pillaring and walked briskly to the top of the stairs in time to see Skjor come up.

"What did he—" I began, but stopped mid-sentence when I saw the ecstatic gleam in his good eye.

"I'm going to have my Trial."

I stopped, completely stunned. Then, I whispered, "What?"

"You heard right." Skjor's eye was bright with excitement and thrill. "Kodlak wants me to become a member of the Circle!"

For a moment, I was thrilled, and I patted Skjor's shoulder formally and said, "Well done. I can't think of anyone more deserving." And then I frowned, and said, "But what about Myllasa? She's been waiting to join the Circle for a long time."

We had the decency to keep our voices lowered to the point of whispering. Sound carries far in Jorrvaskr, and I wasn't sure if Lemaat would be overly-pleased to know his sister wasn't going to become a member of the Circle.

Skjor frowned. "Yes, I asked Kodlak about that. Myllasa's been waiting years and years. I think she's pretty tired of being a whelp. But Kodlak told me that though Myllasa was a strong warrior, invaluable to Jorrvaskr, she wasn't going to become a member of the Circle."

"Why not?"

"Being a member isn't defined by age or skill, says Kodlak. It's your personality. You have to be responsible, a leader amongst many, unafraid to speak out for yourself, and ferociously loyal to the cause. Myllasa is a pretty quiet woman, gets on with her own business. She's afraid of speaking her true thoughts, and she's hesitant when she makes an announcement. No, Kodlak said, Myllasa's place was amongst the new blood."

I frowned. "But she isn't new blood anymore. She's been in Jorrvaskr for nearly thirteen years, I believe."

Skjor shrugged. "I'm still unsure. But the Harbinger seemed certain. And anyway, Kodlak's reasons are his own. I...I hope I do well in my Trial."

"What are you meant to do?" I asked quietly.

Skjor both looked excited and nervous. "High King Torygg himself has asked for a Companion to serve him."

"And that Companion is you?" I guessed.

He nodded. "I'm to leave for Solitude as soon as the weather clears."

As if to clarify his words, we heard a rumble of thunder above us, and rain pelted down harder than before. I turned back to Skjor and asked quietly, "And I guess that you have to go alone."

"Not quite alone; Vignar Gray-Mane wants to travel to Solitude as well, though he won't be helping me out with whatever task High King Torygg has in mind for me." Skjor exhaled slowly. "Gods, I'm nervous. It's been years since I last travelled there, and even then, I wasn't to see the High King."

I looked critically at Skjor. "You, nervous? The same man who deliberately provokes this she-wolf into biting, and smiles when she does?"

Skjor let out a soft chuckle. "Maybe. At least I know you won't savage me when you bite."

"How do you know?" I let my eyes narrow. "The last hunt, I brought back a pair of antlers. They're in my trunk, if you want me to go and fetch them for you."

"Oh, you wouldn't..." Skjor sounded a touch doubtful, though.

I narrowed my eyes even further. "Try me."

I came and stood right in front of Skjor. Though I was several years younger than him, I could look dead into his eyes now, and I said slowly and carefully, "If you don't come back pronto and tell me what happened with High King Torygg on time this time, then I _will_ put the antlers on your head. And I've plenty of arrows. I'm not afraid of shooting beings anymore."

Skjor grinned. "Ah, to think of the time when you were hesitant and looked up to me to provide you with the plans," he said, almost wistfully. "You're not that young girl who came to Jorrvaskr anymore. You know what? I think you've grown, Aela."

"Obviously. I'm nearly nineteen."

"Not just that...when you first came to Jorrvaskr you were timid—yes, I said timid, compared to your stance amongst the others now—and nervous, and anxious at times, and worried. And now, half a year's gone by and you've become as proud and as majestic as a vixen."

I tipped my head slightly to one side. "Me, timid? No!"

"Yes." Skjor grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, if I was back then, I certainly am not now. And I'm not afraid of upholding my old promise to you, providing that you get back here anytime after the Second Planting holiday. Come so much as one minute later, I'll put my antlers to good use."

"The seventh of Second Seed? That's my deadline? You're pretty rough, Aela; for all I know, I could be gone for much longer!"

I grinned. "Then you'd best be home coming before then, hadn't you?"

Skjor smiled. "I suppose I'd better be." And then his voice became playfully firm. "But remember; soon I'll be a member of the Circle. In my eyes, you'll be a whelp. And I'll have high authority over you. You can't threaten me with that antler promise anymore after that, or I can set Orgmund on you."

"Oh, keep the leash on Orgmund. I can run circles around you, Skjor; I think everyone in Jorrvaskr knows that."

A crafty gleam came into Skjor's gaze. "Unless I move."

"Wait." I intercepted Skjor and said to him, "When you were talking with Kodlak, did...did he mention Taija?"

Skjor frowned. "Yeah. Not much, though. Didn't mention that Silver Hand group, either."

I scowled. "I wish I knew who they were. Gods-damn it, I want to avenge Taija." She had died early in Sun's Dawn and two months later we were no closer to finding out about her murderers. None of the whelps had any idea about who the mysterious organization were, not even poor Ornith, though they were just as keen for revenge as I was. The Circle never mentioned them at all to us.

"So do I." Skjor's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you this, Aela. While I'm away on my Trial, wherever I'm going, I'm going to try and find out any evidence about the Silver Hand. And when I do...I'll tell you, soon as I get back. We can avenge Taija together."

I nodded. "Together. And good luck with your Trial."

* * *

He had been gone for two weeks now. I kept my worry well hidden, but I think Eiwen suspected something. She was uncannily good at reading the expressions on Nords.

"Relax," she told me, when we sat together at the table, perhaps noticing my quiet mood. "Skjor's a pretty feisty warrior. Wherever he's off to, he'll come back."

But I didn't relax. Skjor was my closest friend. I was frightened of losing him. It had been difficult for me to accept Panjor when he left me. I wasn't sure how I was going to cope if Skjor left me as well.

I was feeling too distracted to take contracts, and too restless to hang around Jorrvaskr, so I began to spend most of my time hunting around the fields of Skyrim. I set traps, followed tracks, killed plenty of deer and caught many rabbits and pheasants. Hulda paid me handsomely for the meat I brought her, and Eorlund was grateful for the animal skins. He could craft them into leather and improve the fletching on my arrows as well as the light brown wolf armour that he was forging for Skjor.

By now everyone knew that Skjor was away on his Trial. Sometimes I risked asking Myllasa how she felt, and when she told me the truth, she said that she felt cheated. "But Kodlak has his reasons," she admitted grudgingly, most of the time. "So I suppose I can do nothing but trust him. Kodlak's had a clearer head than old Leiknir anyday."

Now it had been three weeks since Skjor had left. It was the twenty-seventh of Rain's Hand and I really was starting to grow pretty anxious now. Whatever task he was doing for High King Torygg, it was probably an important one, to be away for so long. Unless...no. I couldn't think that way.

"You look restless, Shield-Sister."

I looked up at the familiar husky voice. Samiith was standing nearby, concern gleaming in his dark copper eyes.

"It's nothing," I responded. "Just...considering if I should go hunting again." The lie came easily to my lips. Almost as if I had had it prepared. But Samiith was pretty intelligent, and saw right through the lie.

"You've been hunting to the point of exhaustion; even a huntress such as yourself has her limits," he teased gently.

He rested a warm hand on my shoulder, and suggested, "Why don't we go for a walk around the city? I hear it looks quite beautiful in the dusk."

Evening already, I thought vaguely. How time flies.

I rose to my feet, not willing to reject the Circle member. "Fine," I said, as grudgingly as I could manage. "Just a few times around the city. But I'm going hunting tonight whether you want me to or not."

"There's no stopping your determined spirit, Aela." Samiith gave me a small, reptilian smile, which I sadly found less welcoming than Skjor's own warm grin. If you have ever seen a lizard smile, then you'd know what it's like. Particularly when I could see every one of Samiith's very sharp teeth.


	14. Chapter 13 - Lost & Found, Part 2

**A/N: Just want to say to all who's reading this, thanks hugely! I've had 246 views in just over 24 hours and that's just really incredible for me.**

**Am uploading chapters as fast as I can. There'll be a lot more coming your way!  
**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

We left Jorrvaskr. The sky was clear; stars were appearing in the darkening skies above Skyrim, and the twin moons which I could never remember the names of were starting to rise above Dragonsreach, giving the mighty palace a very mystical outline. The city was starting to quiet down, citizens heading back to their houses, the children on the streets heading home after a day of playing games.

As Samiith and I walked down the steps, the wind suddenly came, rustling the branches of the Gildergreen.

"It's so peaceful, isn't it?" Samiith commented quietly, looking up at the big tree. "I enjoy coming down here and just sitting underneath the branches. It brings me peace of mind. I came here a lot after Taija's death, just to...relax, you know?"

Absently I nodded. We walked on, around the Gildergreen, past the stalls which were now empty, the streets beginning to become devoid of guardsmen. To make friendly conversation, I pointed towards Fralia Gray-Mane's stall and said, "That's where I first met Fralia."

"Were you shopping?" Samiith asked lightly.

"No, way too poor back then." I smiled a little to myself. "Even though I've told her my name many times, she still insists on calling me 'dear' and 'girl'. One day I'm going to take that old woman aside and teach her my name properly."

Samiith chuckled. "Ah, it was like that for me. Sometimes, I was frustrated when the people of Whiterun didn't call me by my given name."

I glanced at the Argonian in surprise. "People had trouble remembering your name?"

"I don't think they wanted to remember." Samiith sighed. "When I first travelled here from Black Marsh the Nords here regarded me with some hostility. I think it was because my country's part of a land mass called Argonia. My kindred captured Morrowind after the Dunmer were weakened when Vvardenfell erupted, and now Argonia's a separate nation, compared to the Dominion and the Empire. But I never wanted any part in the Great War. It was still going in my time, when I was a young adolescent and when I first came to Skyrim. But eventually I proved my worth as a sellsword, until I met one of the earlier Companions who suggested I come and prove my mettle to them."

His tail lashed suddenly and I saw at once that the Argonian was frustrated. "For a long time I was called a given name: Runs-Like-River. It was an okay name, better than other names that I could have been given. But it wasn't the name that my mother gave me. And as far as I am concerned, Samiith is the only name that I go by. I managed to get that into the heads of most of the Nords here. I'm no longer called Runs-Like-River."

"I wonder how long it'll take for people to start calling me Aela the Huntress," I said thoughtfully. "Because I want that to be my full name. I won't take anything else."

Samiith gave me a mischievous smile. "So, something like Aela the Vigorous wouldn't suffice?"

"Definitely not."

"Aela Burn-Arrow?"

"Hell, no."

"Aela Determined-Heart?"

"That definitely doesn't suit me."

"Aela Grudge-Keeper?"

I paused and stared at Samiith in confusion. "What? I don't hold grudges."

The Argonian warrior laughed softly. "Don't think I haven't heard of the threats you enjoy making to Skjor. Something about antlers and night-hunting, I believe."

I flushed with embarrassment and irritation. "That's just between us."

"Very well. I'll let it stay between you."

We were about to move on, following the road to the gates, when suddenly we heard the soft, awkward patter of feet behind us. We glanced around, to look into the wide, apprehensive bright grey eyes of a young boy. Though I didn't hang out much with the children in Whiterun, I could see that this was a boy I had never seen before in the city.

"Please," squeaked the boy. "Help my brother!"

His voice was shaky. I realized he must be exhausted, and that perhaps he had been travelling for many days. He was barefoot, and wore extremely dirty clothes. His eyes had dark rings around them, as if he hadn't slept for a while. His face and skin were smeared with mud and dirt, and his hair was matted and uncombed. He was trembling, too, though that was perhaps he was quite small, and very timid-looking.

"What's wrong with your brother?" I asked, kneeling down to his height.

The boy trembled a little more, before saying, "It's...it's my brother, miss. He ate something funny and he's not been good for a while. I don't have any money to ask for a healer to look at him but I think he might be dying!"

"Calm down," said the Argonian, and his husky, hissing voice seemed to soothe the boy, who stopped trembling at least. "We'll help you, don't worry. And you don't need to worry about paying us, either. Where is your brother?"

The boy looked relieved at the promise of aid. "Over...over here, behind the shop, kind sir and miss!" he said. "I'll show you."

He seemed very anxious to get back to his brother. As we fell into step behind the small boy I asked him, "What is your name?"

"Vilkas, miss. My brother's Farkas."

"Where do you come from? You aren't of Whiterun, are you?"

Vilkas glanced back at me and quickly shook his head. "No, miss. Me...me and Farkas, we're orphans, you see, miss. Parents died a long time ago. We didn't like the orphanage. We ran away, but Farkas ate something funny and he's not getting better!"

Vilkas led around to the back of the alchemist shop Faiwen's Alchemical Supplies. Almost at once, through the darkness, we heard a soft groan.

"I've found some people, Farkas!" Vilkas said encouragingly.

I soon saw the boy, Farkas. He was in a pretty pitiful condition, as filthy and ragged as Vilkas, except his face was moon-white beneath the dirt. He was clutching his stomach, and looking pretty ill. I glanced uncertainly at Samiith.

But the Argonian had already crouched down beside Farkas and rested a hand on his head. "He's a little feverish," said Samiith, turning to Vilkas, who stood anxiously nearby. "What exactly did your brother eat?"

Vilkas looked nervous. "I don't...I don' t know what it's called, sir. But it looked tasty. All purply, growing on the roadside. Lots of little purple berries. I warned Farkas not to eat them. But we were so hungry, miss; we haven't had anything else to eat for three days."

I whipped around to stare at the boy. "You ate the berries, too?"

"Just...just a few, miss. I was so hungry." Vilkas trembled. "I felt a bit ill for a while, miss. But I...I turned out okay. But Farkas..." he looked in plain, pure terror at his brother, and stifled a frightened whimper as Farkas let out a soft moan.

"Well, whatever your brother's eaten, it looks like he's poisoned himself," said Samiith conclusively, letting out a small hiss of frustration. He glanced at Vilkas's terrified expression and said, "Don't worry, I don't think it's serious. Farkas will just feel a bit ill for a while. But I'm not the expert on plants. Fortunately, I know someone who is."

"Aileen?" I guessed.

Samiith nodded. "Plus, well, she can brew a cure to any illness that comes her way. And she's in Jorrvaskr. We'll have to head there." He leaned over and gently bundled Farkas up into his arms. The young boy let out a soft groan of pain as Samiith straightened.

"He'll be all right, won't he, sir?" whimpered Vilkas.

"I'm sure he will. Come along, now." Samiith turned and began heading back for the roadside. Wordlessly Vilkas followed him, and I brought up the rear, wondering how on earth Vilkas and Farkas had managed to come this far from wherever their orphanage was, through the wilds of Skyrim that were very dangerous for two small boys to be crossing through.

"How old are you, Vilkas?" I asked him, as we neared the Gildergreen.

Vilkas glanced back at me and stammered, "Tw-twelve, miss."

_Only twelve? You look so much younger..._

"And your brother?"

"Twelve as well, miss. We're twins, you see."

"Twins," I repeated slowly. "And where exactly did you come from?"

Vilkas opened his mouth to respond, caught his toe on a stone step and lurched forwards. I quickly leaned over and steadied him, and after making sure he had safely climbed up the stone steps into the Wind District, I repeated my question. Vilkas replied, "R-Riften, miss. From Honourhall Orphanage. We...we didn't like it there, miss, you see."

"Riften?" I stared in amazement at the young boy. "You came all the way from Riften to here?" _That's a very long way for two boys to come..._

Vilkas seemed a tiny bit proud as he replied nervously, "Well, miss, we just kept to the road, and we travelled quick, and didn't sleep. We wanted to head as far away from the orphanage as we could, miss, in case the matron tries to find us." His voice fell. "But there...there wasn't much on the road to eat, miss. We tried eating mushrooms, but they were horrible. Fish taste nasty raw. It was awfully cold when we passed beneath Throat of the World, miss. We found some nice berries near Riverwood, but..." he pulled a face. "They weren't so nice to eat after all, miss."

_They're very brave,_ I thought. _Brave indeed to have come this far. But very foolish; they obviously don't know that you don't eat plants you haven't heard and/or know the properties of. That's the easiest way to poison and kill yourself. Thank goodness they didn't eat nightshade, at least._

When we entered Jorrvaskr, we attracted attention immediately. But before anyone could ask anything, Samiith called, "Someone get Aileen!"

I saw Eiwen quickly rise to her feet and slip down towards the undercroft, and was grateful that my Bosmer friend was the first to help. And then the questions began to flood around us, and our Shield-Siblings quickly approached us.

"Everything will be answered in time," Samiith hissed above the clamour, the anxious questions thrown at us. "One of you, fetch something warm, a blanket or something." He walked towards the fire and gently rested Farkas down on the rug near the hearth. "Another, go and tell the Harbinger of our new arrivals. Fetch these boys something to eat."

Quickly the group disembanded and went to satisfy Samiith's requirements. I knelt down beside Farkas, who let out another soft groan, and felt his grubby forehead. He certainly was feverish, and very clammy. I turned to Vilkas; the young boy was standing near the fire, looking as though he had never seen such a grand building in his life, or such warmth. He sat down close near his brother with his back to the flames and patted Farkas's head in a reassuring manner.

A moment later I heard rushed footsteps echo across the stone nearby and looked up to see Eiwen and Aileen appear, Fang on her heels. The young woman, I saw, was every bit as practical as I knew she would be. Already her eyes were all for Farkas, and she knelt down beside the sickly boy. Fang trotted past his master and stood off to one side, watching the boy apprehensively.

"What's going on?" Eiwen asked me curiously as I stepped back. She eyed the two boys and said, "Who are they?"

"Orphans." Rapidly in an undertone I explained to my friend all that I knew of the two brothers. Moments later, I heard Samiith ask Aileen, "So, what's wrong with the boy?"

"Juniper," muttered Aileen. "He's eaten juniper."

I recalled in a flash the berries that I sometimes saw growing wild in the plains of Skyrim. I wasn't an expert on plants, but Panjor had taught me a few of the edible ones. Juniper, he told me, was safe raw as long as it was eaten in very small doses. Too much of it, he had told me, and it would definitely make you ill. A severe overdose could cause fever.

"He'll be okay, won't he?" Vilkas's voice was shrill with fear.

"He'll be fine," Aileen assured. "He just needs a bit of medicine and rest and he'll be right as rain."

She uncorked a small phial. "Here, boy," she said soothingly to Farkas. "Drink this. It'll help the nasty tummy pains go away."

She helped open his mouth and gently tipped the liquid down his throat. Farkas swallowed jerkily and coughed, but Aileen patted his shoulder gently and rhythmically until he quietened down and relaxed. "Good boy," she soothed. "Good boy."

"Vilkas..." Farkas croaked.

It was the first time I had heard Farkas speak. I was slightly astonished at how deep the twelve-year-old's voice was.

"I'm here, I'm here." Vilkas huddled a little closer to his brother. "See? I told you I'd get help."

Farkas moaned softly. "I feel sick."

I heard footsteps nearby and looked up to see most of the Companions returning. Myllasa brought a couple of blankets, which she handed to Aileen. The young Breton covered Farkas's shivering body with one of the blankets, and rolled up the second and gently propped it beneath his head to act as a pillow, instead of the hard ground.

"He'll be all right now," Aileen said to me and Samiith. I didn't even realize I was feeling concerned until Aileen had spoken to me directly. "He just needs a bit of rest...and maybe some food."

"Here." Derrick, to my surprise, stepped forward, bearing a loaf of bread. "Got this from the kitchens. Give this to the young lads."

Aileen looked startled herself, but only for a moment. She accepted the loaf of bread and gave it to Vilkas. He held it and stared at it as though hardly believing his eyes, but a moment later he had broken the bread roughly into two halves and began to wolf down his share of the loaf as though he had never eaten before.

Samiith now rose to his feet. "We should let them have some peace," he said to the gathered Companions. "Aileen will stay with them. Has anyone told Kodlak yet?"

"He says he'll meet the boys soon," said Lemaat promptly.

"I'll go and speak to him now, then. All of you, resume your current duties." Samiith's gaze hardened as he looked at each of his Shield-Siblings in turn. "None of you are to speak with the boys until after Kodlak has. Do I make myself clear?"

They nodded. But I had a feeling that I was going to suddenly be asked a lot of questions the moment Samiith was out of earshot.

* * *

**A/N: I really wanted to add Farkas and Vilkas in at this point. I wondered about their pasts, so I looked up on the wiki and learned that they came to Jorrvaskr at a very young age and were raised by the Companions. Unfortunately I only learned about this today or I would have added them earlier. But still...twelve-year-olds are young, right?**

**Stay tuned for Part 3: Will have it uploaded tomorrow afternoon.  
**


	15. Chapter 14 - Lost & Found, Part 3

Chapter Fourteen

Dinner, as you may have guessed, was delayed that night. Eight o'clock came and went, and still we weren't at the mead table, drinking ourselves to the point of slight hangovers in the morning. But we didn't really mind. In the new bloods' room I told the story of how Samiith and I stumbled upon the two lost orphan boys over and over until my throat was raw from talking.

"I wonder what will happen to them," murmured Eiwen. She looked anxiously at the door, and muttered, "Samiith's been speaking with Kodlak for a long time."

"It's not up to us to send them back to the orphanage," Myllasa argued.

"It _is_ up to us," Derrick announced. "Those whining brats came here, and threw themselves on our mercy. They nearly died coming to us, so that should be proof enough that the big wide world is no place for a pair of twelve-year-old orphans."

I glared at Derrick. "They risked their lives coming here. They would've died rather than go back to their orphanage. I think we should let them stay."

"And what does it matter what you think?" sneered Derrick.

Angrily I rose to my feet, but Eiwen quickly grasped my arm firmly and said softy, "Don't. That's what he wants."

I wanted to tell all the new bloods around me what I really wanted to do was to punch Derrick's teeth in. But there was some sense in Eiwen's words. I could knock Derrick's lights out a little later on, or risk getting a very angry Orgmund in here. Slowly, showing my reluctance clearly, I sat back down, satisfaction glittering in Derrick's rather malevolent eyes.

"But we aren't the boys' guardians," argued Ornith, his red eyes glittering with earnestness. "It's not up to us to decide their fates."

"In a way, it is," said Myllasa. "I mean, that little boy—Vilkas, was that his name?—came to Aela and Samiith for a reason. If the boys weren't meant to stay in Whiterun, then he would have approached someone else. Fate _led_ him to us."

Derrick scowled. "Just because some whinging kid comes to Samiith doesn't mean they're meant to stay. If anything, it means they should be escorted back to Riften, where all the rats belong."

"Do me a favour," I said coldly to Derrick, "and shut your mouth."

"Why?" That sneering look shadowed his face again. "What are you going to do about it, girl?"

Fury blazed through me at being called 'girl'. I wasn't just a 'girl'. I was a Huntress, and right now, I wanted to stick my skinning knife into Derrick's guts and tear them out, as I would for a captured pheasant.

"It's for Kodlak to decide," said Ornith. He crossed his arms. "Not us." He sounded as if this settled the matter.

Vaguely, I wondered what Skjor would say if he were here. Would he have agreed with Derrick or me?

Perhaps thinking along those lines, Eiwen suggested, "It's up to the Circle. I think they're in a meeting about the boys' futures right now."

"What?" Derrick rose to his feet angrily. "They can't be seriously considering letting those brats stay!"

"Why not?" Myllasa inquired.

Derrick glared at the Redguard woman. "Jorrvaskr isn't a bloody orphanage, for Zenithar's sake," he growled. "No, the only orphanage is Honourhall, and that's where the kids belong. Jorrvaskr is a place for real warriors. Those two don't even know about what and what not to eat in the wilderness."

I narrowed my eyes. There had been a certain stiff way he had said real warriors that made me certain he didn't think I was one. Frustration and fury coursed through my blood. I had been with the Companions for over half a year and taken so many contracts I had lost count. How dare he accuse me of not being a real warrior?

One of these days, I quietly vowed to myself, I would prove him wrong, and make him eat his words. Derrick was too mean for his own good.

"That is true." Ornith frowned thoughtfully at Derrick's accusations. "The boys, if they stay, will be living alongside warriors, the best of the best of mercenaries. They may not know how to behave around us, and we can be very violent at times." He glanced a little meaningfully at Derrick and Eiwen, and I knew he was remembering the brawl which had been my first experience of the Companions.

"But living for so long alongside warriors could be at their advantage," I said suddenly. Every pair of eyes turned to me, and though I felt slightly uncomfortable for speaking out, I wasn't afraid to defend the boys from Derrick. "They had to be strong to come all the way from Riften to Whiterun. Not many twelve-year-olds could face Skyrim's wilds and get as far as they did. They ran away from the orphanage because they hated the place, but if they've come here, it's obvious that fate has led them to the Companions." I remembered Vilkas's strength and stubborn loyalty towards his twin brother and wondered how strong that loyalty could be, if it were also channelled to Jorrvaskr. "They could be raised as warriors, and become members when they're old enough."

Eiwen nodded in approval of my words. "Good point."

Derrick glared at the Bosmer. "Not a good point. It's complete rubbish." Looking mockingly at me, he sneered, "So you think Fate brought them to the mead hall? What nonsense. Those who come to Jorrvaskr and stay in Jorrvaskr come at their own choice. And you think twelve-year-olds will make true warriors? Well, truer than some, say…"

I felt rage course through me at his meaningful look towards me. Slowly, I rose to my feet, the fires of anger smouldering in my eyes.

"Whatever you may suggest, you do not dare call me an untrue warrior, Derrick of High Rock," I spat. "My title is Huntress but my heart's fire burns along your own. Along all of theirs." I gestured to Eiwen, Ornith and Myllasa and continued acidly. "You dare question my loyalty to Jorrvaskr one more time, and you _will_ be sorry."

It took me a few moments to realize…yes, I did mean that threat. Whole-heartedly, earnestly, and darkly.

After a moment, I heard Ornith say, "Spoken like a true daughter of our family, Aela." Glancing sternly at Derrick, the Dunmer said, "Keep the comments behind your tongue. Only weaklings would try to push doubt into others, when they feel it themselves."

Derrick glowered at Ornith, and for a moment, I was reminded what Ornith once had been; proud, sure-minded, serious and thoughtful, and a skilled dual-bladesman. But the moment quickly passed. The Dunmer leaned back and closed his crimson eyes and fell silent.

We heard footsteps echo in the undercroft outside. In the sudden silence that had fallen in the new bloods' room, it was like thunderclaps. I turned towards the door, which opened, and Samiith walked in.

"Well?" I couldn't stop myself. "What has Kodlak decided?"

Samiith looked at me steadily. "Nothing yet. He's requested your presence."

Shock leapt into my gut. I could tell that around me, my fellow Shield-Siblings were surprised as well. The last time I had spoken face-to-face with Kodlak, it had been to determine my future, after my (still-not-clear) incident with my test with Orgmund. Now, it seemed, the irony of me discussing the future of the two boys with Kodlak was quite thick.

Stiffly I nodded.

"He'll be in his quarters…and he wishes to speak to you alone." Samiith turned to the rest of the Companions and added in his husky Black Marsh accent, "the rest of you, you're to go down to the Bannered Mare, or somewhere else, for the night. Be back in Jorrvaskr by midnight."

We exited our room without complaint. But I was feeling just the slightest apprehension stirring in the deepest depths of my gut when I thought of having the discussion with Kodlak. Why had he asked for my presence?

However I kept my movements confident as I entered Kodlak's quarters. I saw immediately that my Harbinger was alone.

Kodlak looked up. "Ah. Aela. Good." He gestured to the seat nearest to him. "Sit down. I think you know why I've called you here."

I nodded, walking across the room and sitting down in the aligned seat. "You want to talk to me about the two boys Samiith and I found."

Kodlak nodded. "I haven't seen them yet," he said. "But I have been in discussion with my Circle. It appears that the boys' futures are in our hands." He leaned back a little on his chair and planted his two hand firmly on his lap. "It is at a draw. Samiith and I are for the boys to stay. Orgmund and Lemaat wish the boys safely returned to Riften."

"Those boys risked their lives getting here." I didn't bother to try and keep the anger out of my voice, I knew I would have failed miserably if I had. "They don't deserve the cruelty of being sent back to Riften."

Kodlak nodded. "I'm glad that you and I share the same views, Huntress. But is it truly for ourselves to decide?"

I frowned. "Of course. The boys came here, to Jorrvaskr. They came to Samiith and I. That has to be a turn of Fate, right?"

Kodlak smiled rather ruefully. "And do you believe in such a thing called Fate?"

"Of course." I crossed my arms firmly across my chest. "It's what led Skjor to me. And to the Companions."

"And since joining you have been bringing honour to our name as effectively as the members of our Circle," mused Kodlak. His gaze hardened, just slightly, but enough to make my guard rise. "But even then, it was difficult for you to be accepted by all of us for a time longer than it takes for most new bloods."

The arrows. They were _never_ going to let the matter drop.

"For a reason I still don't properly understand," I scowled.

Kodlak sighed wearily. "I do wish I could explain why exactly we had to get rid of the silver arrows, Aela. I truly do. But we cannot."

"Do you mean you can't or you won't?"

Kodlak looked steadily at me, though I felt no guilt I had spoken so rashly. I knew that the Harbinger was keeping something from me. Why didn't he trust me?

"These two boys," Kodlak said slowly, going back to our original conversation, "Farkas and Vilkas, I believe their names are? They've come to Jorrvaskr seeking shelter and homage."

"I sensed their strengths," I said quickly. I remembered their stubbornness, their sureness that they did not want to return to Riften, and I added, "They're strong boys. They have strong heart fires. It's obvious to me that they're born warriors."

"Really?" Kodlak seemed to be interested. "And do you have evidence of this? Can these boys fight? Have they once held a weapon in their lives, and defended each other from beasts of the wild, in their journey north?"

I frowned. It was obvious that Kodlak was expecting me to say 'no'. And I would say no, to them ever having fought with weapons. But they fought with something else, though… "My evidence is that these two boys are standing in Jorrvaskr where only the strongest stand," I began. "They fight with courage and determination. They have cared for each other more deeply than any sibling I have ever seen." Remembering Lokir and Ulfgar with a slight twist to my heart, I added, "They care more deeply for each other than any of our Shield-Siblings to the other here. They helped each other survive."

"And what do you believe your verdict is?" inquired Kodlak.

The Harbinger was expecting me to answer that? I didn't have the authority. But again I didn't hesitate when I responded, after a brief moment's pause, "I think the boys should stay."

Then there was silence in the air between us so thick I could have put a piece of parchment on it. Kodlak's gaze never wavered from my own. Fearlessly I held it. And then, I saw Kodlak give me a small smile.

"You have a lot of spirit, young one," he said. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the boys should stay." He crossed his arms. "But would you be willing to live alongside the boys? We know very little about them. They could be thieves. They could cause trouble, perhaps unintentionally, but trouble for us nonetheless when we can afford for nothing to distract us."

I glared at my Harbinger. "You realize you haven't given me one straight question or one certain answer?"

"Nothing is certain," said Kodlak.

Somehow, I felt he was giving me a pearl of wisdom.

"However," Kodlak continued, "I do believe that you could be right. It is not up to us to decide the boys' futures. But for now, at least, they can find rest and sanctuary here. I will allow them to stay in the halls of Jorrvaskr, and I will see them in the morning, and make my final decision then."

Gratitude swept through me. "Thank you, Harbinger."

* * *

Kodlak told me to go and speak to Aileen and see what I could do to help the boys settle in. By now Jorrvaskr was astonishingly near empty—most of our order were out in the city, getting drunk in the taverns. Farkas, I saw, was looking better. He was sitting up, and eating some bread. Fang seemed to have warmed to the boys and Vilkas was patting his shaggy brown-black head.

I told Aileen and the brothers the situation. Aileen and I decided the best way for the boys to win Kodlak's affection was for them to get cleaned up. So we took them down to the undercroft and to what we called the Basement, where we took our baths. We filled up a tub with hot water and washed each boy separately, and rinsed out and dried their clothes over the fire while they bathed.

During the cleaning process we uncovered that Vilkas had a nasty cut to his leg, which none of had noticed before, and Farkas was sporting a nasty-looking bruise just beneath his left arm. Once the new wounds were treated and Vilkas and Farkas were dressed in their cleaned and dried clothes, and we combed their wet hair, they looked completely different to the two scruffy orphans who had first come into Jorrvaskr.

When I asked where they could rest for the night, Aileen suggested the sixth-Circle-member's quarters. For a moment, I was hesitant; putting two boys in the place where a member of the Circle would usually sleep would just aggravate the situation. But it was that or the boys would have to sleep in the new bloods' room and that would be worse. So we let them into the room, which was always freshened up by the servants but never used.

I glanced at Vilkas, who was staring around the room with wide silver eyes.

"Is this all for us?" he asked, as though hardly believing it.

I exchanged an uncomfortable look with Aileen. The room was comfortably furnished but small. If they thought it was big, then life at the orphanage must have been pretty tough. "Yes, for now," I replied. "You can make yourselves comfortable. Let us know if Farkas has a bad turn in the night."

Farkas, however, was looking more like his old self, colour returning to his face. He was feeling better, he told us, and after thanking Aileen humbly for the medicine, she and I left them to get settled.

"They're nice boys," Aileen muttered, as we headed slowly back upstairs. "I hope that Kodlak lets them stay."

Fervently I nodded. "They've got good hearts."

I couldn't help but think, as we left the undercroft and headed back upstairs, if I really did believe in Fate or not. But there seemed to be quite a strange piece of evidence pointing my way. Had Kodlak known this as well and questioned me because of my doubt, perhaps nudging me about the uncanny occurrence? But it seemed quite unusual to me that we had lost Taija, and gained, perhaps a long time in the future, Vilkas and Farkas.

Would they become Companions one day?

Something told me that they'd become more. Though it would be difficult for most to see through the frightened and apprehensive shells on the outside, on the inside, they had the hearts of warriors.

I was sure that when Kodlak looked at them tomorrow, he would agree.

* * *

**A/N: Aarrggh! CURSE writer's block! (experienced a bit at the end of this chapter).**

**Please please please review! By the way, big thanks to everyone who's viewed The Huntress, ova 340 views in 48 hours is just incredible for me. Possibly I'll upload Chapter Fifteen tonight (got lotsa homework to do, y'see).**


	16. Chapter 15 - Wanderer's Return

**A/N: Yay, chapter fifteen is here! And guess what? So is chapter sixteen!**

**Before you ask, yes, chapters fifteen and sixteen were originally one chapter, and I split it, because otherwise it was going to be way too long. Also, I originally intended that four years after Skjor becomes a member of the Circle, the Companions would all go off to Markarth alongside Ulfric's army of militia to fight the Forsworn which will later become known as the Markarth Incident. But I did some research and realized it had already happened before Aela even went to join the Companions, so scrap that idea.  
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**So I had to do a rapid changing of plot and decided because I wanted the Forsworn mentioned at this point, they would be what happens in Skjor's trial. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

The two boys stood in front of the fire, standing very close to each other, and looked up at Kodlak with wide eyes. Thankfully, they were showing little fear; that had disappeared when Kodlak had introduced himself to them, and knelt down to their height, and spoke in a calm, quiet voice to them.

I stood nearby, trying to look inconspicuous. I was feeling a touch anxious for Farkas and Vilkas. Would Kodlak really send them away? He had been for the boys to stay in Jorrvaskr, but even so…

"What made you leave the Honourhall Orphanage?" asked Kodlak.

Vilkas shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "We…we hated the matron, sir," he mumbled. "She makes us call her Grelod the Kind, but she's anything but, sir. She…she beats us, if we don't do our chores, and she doesn't let us go out and explore the city, even though we've asked heaps of times to look around town…" his voice drifted off.

"She hit Vilkas a lot," said Farkas, slowly. "I hated her. Vilkas was hit even when he didn't do anything. So I began hitting back. Nobody hurts my brother." He sidled an inch or so closer to Vilkas's side.

That, I realized, had to explain the bruising.

"You have courage, young Farkas," said Kodlak, as he mused on Farkas's words. "So you struck back when you saw Vilkas in pain?"

"Nobody hurts my brother," Farkas repeated.

"And you both understand loyalty," Kodlak continued, turning his gaze to Vilkas as well. "But do you understand fear? Was that what you felt towards the matron?"

Vilkas looked unsure. "S-sometimes, sir," he stammered. "I mean, it was more fear that Grelod was going to really hurt Farkas. She punished him a lot, because he stood up for me. I was afraid of being hit in front of my brother, because I know he wouldn't be able to stand for it."

"I'm not letting an old witch hurt you," Farkas said firmly.

"So you felt fear to your brother," Kodlak contemplated, slowly nodding. "And how long did you have to live with Grelod? In the orphanage?"

"Since we were seven, sir," Vilkas replied. "Our…our parents died in a fire. Our uncle took us to Riften, but he…he didn't like me and Farkas. So he left us in the orphanage. It was…" Awkwardly, he swallowed, and continued. "It was horrible, sir. Really horrible."

Kodlak nodded as though understanding. "And where did you plan to go, when you ran away?"

"We…didn't care," mumbled Vilkas, though I sensed there was a touch of rebelliousness in his voice now. "We just wanted to leave Grelod far behind us. We ran day and night. We were afraid she'd come after us. That she'd find us and drag us back to Honourhall. But we must've run fast and far because she never did."

"And what made you come to Whiterun?" Kodlak didn't sound angry, merely curious.

"Farkas, sir. He was feeling sick. We ate some berries near Riverwood and he was feeling very sickly when we passed by, so I thought…I thought we'd stop in Whiterun, and find someone to help Farkas." Vilkas nervous knotted his hands together, as though feeling very guilty for something.

Kodlak was silent for a moment, until Vilkas's brief nervousness calmed down, and then he said quietly, sincerely, "If I asked you a question, here and now, would you answer it as truthfully as you could for me?"

Vilkas and Farkas exchanged a hesitating glance, and then they both nodded.

"If you could choose to stay in Jorrvaskr for the rest of your childhood years, or if you would prefer to keep journeying, what would be your choice?"

I found myself listening to every word now. This would be the final decision, I realized. If the boys wished to stay, then they would stay. But if they wanted to leave, they would be free to go, to leave Whiterun, to never look back and try their fortune somewhere else.

Vilkas bit his lip. "Are you…are you willing to _keep_ us, sir?"

Kodlak gave Vilkas a reassuring smile. "You're a smart boy," he said. "So I will tell you and your brother now what will happen if you decide to stay behind in Jorrvaskr. You will live here, and you will meet many newcomers who bear weapons that could kill you, if you stepped in the way. You will help whenever you can, if asked for assistance, but we will not lay hand on you. You will stay in Whiterun. And one day, you will join us, the Companions."

Vilkas exchanged another glance with Farkas. Then Farkas turned to Kodlak and said, "But…but we will have food, yes? And somewhere to sleep? And…and you won't be cruel?"

"I can promise you food and shelter, and I'm sure that none of our Companions will be cruel to you," said Kodlak, with the smallest of smiles. "If they are, I shall be very angry. And you will be expected to work, but only when you are needed."

"What kind of work?" asked Vilkas apprehensively.

"Training," said Kodlak. "You will be trained by our swordsmen in the art of blade-wielding. You will learn how to move in armour. You will learn how to defend yourself against enemies, and attack those. You will learn honour. And you will learn, above all, companionship. If you choose to stay in Whiterun and in Jorrvaskr, you will have a family. A family of mercenaries, yes, but a family, all the same."

Vilkas's apprehension relaxed almost instantly. "That sounds like work I would be happy to do."

"Me too," said Farkas. "And…and a family? We'll have…parents?"

"You will not have parents, I'm afraid," said Kodlak. "You will have to learn to rely on yourselves here. But you will have many brothers and sisters. Here, we are all siblings."

Farkas straightened up. "As far as I'm concerned, anywhere other than Riften is the place for me and my brother," he said, slowly and carefully. "And I have a debt to repay. I shall stay, if Vilkas chooses to."

"Of course I'm staying," said Vilkas, glancing at his brother. "I don't think I'd like to go anywhere else."

Kodlak smiled. "Very well, sons. You're still too worn out from your journey here to begin your training, the both of you, so while you recover your strength, I suggest that you get to know your new brothers and sisters—and help out wherever you can. For information about Jorrvaskr and about your new family, speak to the others. I have business I need to attend to. For now, you may continue to use the quarters that have been given to you."

Vilkas and Farkas nodded solemnly, and watched sincerely as their new Harbinger straightened up and walked away.

To my surprise, straight towards me. I detached myself from the pillaring and assumed a more formal stance, and expected a telling-off for having lingered around eavesdropping on what was _meant_ to be a private conversation. Kodlak had sent all the others outside.

But he wasn't angry. He didn't even seem to be surprised to see me there. He looked over me with his kindly dark eyes and murmured, "You were quite right about them, having strong hearts."

I flashed my Harbinger a small smile. "Perhaps you'll start trusting me a little more, now?"

"Soon," Kodlak said. "I trust you already, Shield-Sister. But do not forget your place."

I folded my arms. "I'm not the youngest whelp anymore. Even you have to admit that."

Kodlak smiled. "I suppose I do. But this isn't what I wanted to speak to you about. I need you to monitor their growth and their acceptance here in Whiterun."

My smile faded, and I frowned. "What, you want me to be their babysitter?"

"I'm not asking you to safeguard them," Kodlak warned me, as I crossed my arms. "But never before in Jorrvaskr's history have there been children living here. It will take time for the community accepts them. I wish for no harm to come to the lads. And I understand that not all the whelps are exactly...ah...content with their arrival."

So he knew about Derrick. "Let me worry about the Breton," I assured my Harbinger. "And I don't think you'll regret giving sanctuary to Vilkas and Farkas. If they're that strong to go marching across Skyrim when they're just twelve, they'll be strong enough to face anything that comes their way in the future."

"I believe the same," said Kodlak. "As long as they do not go causing trouble and grief for us first."

"I don't think they will. They're thrilled to be here." The light in Farkas's eyes when Kodlak told him he would be in a family wouldn't escape my memory anytime soon. "But I'll keep my eyes on them, as much as I can spare them."

Kodlak nodded. "Good. Living in such a rowdy band like the Companions may prove dangerous for them; it will put my mind at ease knowing you look out for them, and make sure they don't get into trouble. And there is one more thing I must ask of you, Aela."

"And what is that?"

"Do not let the boys be with to Orgmund."

This was such an unusual request that I even unfolded my arms for this, and said, "Um, what?"

"Orgmund," Kodlak repeated in an undertone. "Don't let the boys near Orgmund." Anxiety seemed to flash for a moment in Kodlak's gaze before he murmured, "He's been...different, of late. Too restless, too fiery, than normal. I've assigned him solo contracts but he still has plenty of energy to burn, and which he channels out into aggression."

"Are you worried he'll take it out on Vilkas and Farkas?"

Kodlak's brow creased. "He was against their coming. He hopefully will not. But even so, it is unwise to make Orgmund angry or even frustrated. And Orgmund dislikes changes. I will have a word with him, rest assured, but even so...precautions are better than caution alone."

With that utterly confusing statement whirling around in my mind, Kodlak brushed past me and headed back down into the undercroft. Turning, I looked after Orgmund, feeling confused and even a little peeved. _He says he trusts me but not enough to tell me what's going on with Orgmund, _I thought irritably. _But I'll find out the truth from you eventually, Kodlak; all of it. You just wait and see._

* * *

"I think you're ready to take me on."

I looked at him steadily. "Do you think I'm that good already?"

He threw one blade aside, so it clattered across the cobblestone, and raised the other steadily, the one he grasped in his left hand. "Well enough to face me and match me."

I raised the dagger Skjor had given me, the sunlight catching on the sharpened, steel edges. "And may I ask if this is a serious bout?"

"The one who is puts down the other will be the only winner." His unsmiling face and sharp eyes locked onto my own. And slowly, like pacing sabre cats, we circled.

He lunged. I leapt to the side, lashing out with the dagger, to push the offensive blade away. With a hiss of frustration, quick as lightning he spun around, the blade whisking through the air. I tightened the grip on the dagger and tilted it at the angle that would allow the edges of the blade I wielded to carry off most of the punishing force of the offensive sword. I had learned this technique very quickly, and would save me from being disarmed.

Impressiveness momentarily gleamed in the eyes. He spun around again, charging towards me. I threw up the dagger and twisted my body away, and as the blades met, I jerked back with my free elbow, hitting him hard in the rib cage and winding him. He gasped with surprise and staggered backwards, but already as I spun around in the split-second it took, he was ready, blade raised, recovered at once.

His stamina was strong. He pushed the offensive, and I parried blow after blow. My body acted on its own accord. I did not hold the dagger. The dagger held me. All I had to do was follow its movements as it whirled and spun, defending me from the offensive blows.

He feinted to my right. I dropped down and rolled as the blade whisked above me with the sound of metal slicing through the air. My armour rattled for a moment as metal hit cobblestone; then I was back on my feet in a defensive crouch, the dagger half-raised, watching his every move with unwavering eyes.

He charged once more. I straightened. I lifted the dagger and wrapped my other hand around my first and accepted the full force of the blow. It was only enough to stagger me, but enough for his foot to swing out and catch my leg. I was thrown to the ground. He loomed above me, but I would not be given up so easily. In a flash I had rolled; the blade came crashing down onto the cobblestone. I kicked out at his legs; he grunted and fell to his knees, but his sword swung out. I barely managed to catch and parry the blow in time, and there was a hiss as the two blades rebounded against one another, sending a tiny shower of sparks into the air.

In one smooth movement, with the grace of a swallow in flight, he was back on his feet and springing towards me, intensity burning in his eyes. I twisted and raised the dagger, moving my body out of the way of his own. As his sword came swishing around and clattered once more on my own I felt my wrist throb and knew I was tiring. It was time to end this fight before it ended me.

But suddenly there was a flash of grey; once more he had upended me. I landed heavily on my back. My head cracked against the stone and white lights flashed before my eyes. The dagger rolled from my grasp and before I knew it, the offensive sword was at my throat.

For a moment, Ornith and I held the position. And then he stepped back, and allowing me to get dizzily back to my feet.

"You almost had me, several times," Ornith commented, as he slung his left-hand sword over his back and went to fetch his fallen right, only to find that Vilkas had already carefully picked it up and was holding it respectfully out to him. "Thank you, son." He took and sheathed his right-hand weapon and turned towards me. "You okay, Huntress?"

"Fine." My body ached from the training bout, and those odd white lights were still winking in front of my eyes, and lingered even when I closed them. But I found the dagger and bent down to grasp it, and almost at once lost my balance.

_Shit,_ I thought, as the world spun. And then I felt a hand touch my shoulder, steadying me, and Ornith picked up and handed me the dagger instead.

"Careful," Ornith warned, his face serious. "I thought you hit your head a little too hard. You should have worn a protective helmet."

I shook my head. I was recovering now, anyway, and I sheathed the dagger smartly at my side. "No, I'm fine," I insisted. "It'll go away in a moment. Damn, Ornith, you're formidable even when you use just one sword. I hate to think what you could do with two."

"Let's just say that when I fight my foes, there usually isn't much of them left to bury." Ornith even gave me one of his rare smiles, which had become even rarer these days. He still wasn't right since Taija died. "But I've only been teaching you swordsmanship for a few months. You've come quite far from only using knives before."

"Good huntresses only need skinning knives and a good bow and a quiver of decent arrows to make a living," I said to Ornith. "But learning to use daggers to defend myself close-combat is valuable. I've learned quite a bit from you."

The Dunmer dipped his head modestly. He turned his unwavering crimson gaze to where Vilkas stood, wide-eyed, and remarked gruffly, "You focus on your training when it comes, boy, and you'll be fighting as expertly as me one day with your selected weapon."

Vilkas nodded. "I thought you were incredible," he murmured.

I smiled a little to myself. At least Vilkas wasn't calling us 'miss' and 'sir' anymore, though he still called members of the Circle formally. "Ornith's the best dual-bladesman in a hundred miles in any direction," I said to Vilkas. "You won't find a better tutor anywhere in Skyrim." I frowned suddenly and looked around. "Where's your brother?"

"Farkas went up to the Skyforge again," said Vilkas. "Do you want him? Shall I go and get him?"

"No, no; just wondered where he was." I wondered why Farkas was spending so much time up with Eorlund. But the young boy went up there at least once a day and stayed there for several hours.

I had to admit, in the five days that had passed since the twins had first arrived at Jorrvaskr they had settled in quite well. They weren't troublesome and were very keen to help out their new family in every way possible, and Vilkas absolutely doted on Fang. The dog was away currently, out with Aileen and Derrick on a contract somewhere in Hjaalmarch, but Fang seemed to have taken a liking to Vilkas as well and enjoyed following the young lad around.

The brothers had even felt brave enough at times to venture out as far as the Gildergreen into the Whiterun community. They were drawn by the enormous tree whose whispers of Kynareth spoke through the scarlet-blossomed branches. But they never spoke to anyone, and headed back to Jorrvaskr fairly quickly.

What was today again? Oh, yes: the second of Second Seed. I frowned. Only five days until Skjor's deadline to be home. When was he going to be back?

I stopped with surprise when I realized I had barely given a thought to Skjor and his trial in the past days. With the arrival of Vilkas and Farkas to Jorrvaskr, Skjor had been the last thing on my mind. And now he arose again, and worry nagged in my gut. When was he going to be home?

"Aela, are you okay? You look a bit funny."

Vilkas's inquisitive voice broke into my thoughts and I returned to the present. The boy was staring right at me.

"I'm fine; just thinking," I replied. "Let's head inside. Perhaps we could go for a walk around Whiterun later."

Vilkas looked excited at this prospect. "Can Farkas come too?"

"If he wants. He may want to stay up at the Skyforge, though."

Ornith let out a low chuckle. "Perhaps he's seeking to challenge Eorlund for his post as best blacksmith?" he suggested.

"Maybe." I pushed open the doors and was the first to enter Jorrvaskr.

Almost at once to hear, "Ouch! Ysmir's beard, can't you be gentler?"

My eyes widened, and almost at once I was walking a lot faster. The Divines must have heard my wish and made Skjor materialize in Jorrvaskr as soon as I had thought anxiously of him, because there he was; lying slumped in a chair near the fire, wincing as Aileen tended to his injuries.

She was back as well? I had forgotten when she had left.

"Skjor!" My voice echoed with relief as I lengthened my stride in approaching him.

Skjor turned and looked towards me. His good eye brightened. "Aela!" he said, recognizing me, and almost immediately wincing and jerking his arm away from Aileen, snapping irritably, "Gods curse you, that stuff stings!"

"It shows it's working, you big sook; give me your arm back." Aileen reached over and snatched Skjor's wrist firmly and pulled it back towards her chest. In the light of the fire, I saw a deep, bloody gash that must have gone right down to the bone.

"Gods, Skjor," I muttered, "please don't tell me you pissed off a Daedric prince. That wasn't your Trial, was it?"

Skjor narrowed his eye at me. "I didn't meet any Daedric prince," he frowned, wincing as Aileen firmly dabbed a rag sodden with a healing elixir into his bloody arm. "But I was pretty much picked up, chewed up and spat out again, as you may have noticed."

His armour was in tatters. The steel plating was heavily scratched; he was missing one pauldron entirely. There were new lines to his face. He looked wearied.

I felt a light touch at my side and heard Vilkas murmur, "Who's that? Why's he all bloody?"

Skjor frowned as he finally noticed the young lad. "Who are you?" he grunted.

"Long story." I turned to Vilkas and said, "Run along and find your brother. I'll be with you soon."

Vilkas obliged, disappearing quickly towards the back doors.

Turning back to Skjor, I demanded almost angrily, "By the Divines, you can't scare me like that! You've been gone nearly a month!"

"Well, I'm back," Skjor said feebly.

I considered giving him a punch in the shoulder and then refrained from it; it was covered in bandages that looked slightly bloodstained. Turning to Aileen I snapped, "When did he get back?"

"Just now." Aileen glanced casually at me, but not for long; she was absorbed in her work of winding a fresh bandage around Skjor's gashed arm. "And I came back just now as well, before you ask. I met Skjor on the road and he looked pretty beat up, as if he'd wandered into a bear warren smelling of raw venison."

"Where have you been?" I snarled.

Skjor sighed, leaning back a little more, grimacing at the pressure that was firmly wound around his arm. "High King Torygg sent me to the Reach."

I frowned. "Why?"

"High King Torygg was worried about the Forsworn," murmured Skjor, closing his eyes. "You know, the indigenous Bretons of the Reach? Got driven out of Markarth a few years after the Great War by Ulfric and his men?"

I nodded. Living so close to the Reach's borders, my mother and father had told me stories of what was called the Markarth Incident.

"Torygg had heard of another uprising," Skjor explained, his voice grim. "And he wanted a skilled Companion to put an end to it."


	17. Chapter 16 - Formal Acceptance

**A/N: Holy shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirt ! (oops, think that 'r' slipped in there; most conveniently though) I've had over 460 viewings! *slumps off chair in dead faint* That's an incredible number for my fanfiction, which has only been up on FanFiction since Saturday morning (I'm speaking in New Zealand time, by the way, in case you're confused).**

**Thank you all those who have visited! And keep those reviews coming in, I want to hear 'em!  
**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

"Akatosh's blood, Skjor, don't tell me you accepted that!"

"Of course I did; this was my Trial." Skjor glowered at me. "And you would have accepted as well, should it have been yours. This decided on my future in the Companions. I'm tired of being new blood.

"So I journeyed to Markarth. Took several days; the roads were infested with Forsworn on the move, said Torygg, so I had to go cross-country. Left my horse in Dragon Bridge and had to go on foot. So after several days of scrambling over completely unfamiliar territory and doing circles most of the time, I finally came to Markarth, fortunately not spotted by the Reachmen while I moved through the Reach.

"I got to Markarth and immediately found out that a Forsworn agent had been caught and imprisoned in Markarth, in Understone Keep. I had to do a few sellsword jobs to the Jarl before I even got permission to enter the prisons and interrogate the prisoner myself, before he was to be executed. When I went down to the jail, the prisoner, as you may have guessed, didn't exactly take kindly to a Nord."

Skjor grinned rather ruefully. "But I coaxed it out of him. Bit by bit. I told more lies then and there than I had in my whole life. That I secretly was in league with the Forsworn. That I was an agent myself, going to assassinate the Jarl of Markarth and restore peace and order to the Reach; my Nord status would give me protection against suspicions."

I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? You said all that?"

"I had to. I had to go to extremes to finally get the prisoner talking." Skjor sighed. "And when he did, he talked a lot. Said that the place to go to for new orders from the top conspirators were in some place called Druadach Redoubt, a day or so walk's northward.

"So I set off to Druadach Redoubt. Reached the place by nightfall and decided for a stealthy approach. Waited until it was nearly pitch-black before ambushing the damned Forsworn at the entrance."

"You, stealthy? Honestly, Skjor, you and secrecy don't mix at all," I commented, frowning sceptically at Skjor.

The burly Nord nodded and sighed. "Yeah. Lost the element of surprise almost the moment I attacked. Almost as if the damned Forsworn were expecting me. And they were skilled fighters; fought with weapons I had never seen before. All cruel-edged, and they fought dual-bladed, like Ornith, only they sounded a little more savage than Ornith's quiet grace.

"Understand before you make sarcastic remarks, Aela, that I fought my best; I put one down when two Forsworn were on my left and my right. I was starting to put down the second bastard who was attacking me when some creature came." Skjor closed his eyes and shivered. "Horrible, it was. Disgusting, like an old woman and a raven mixed together to form a hideous beast. But it knew magic, believe it or not. Electricity shot from its claws and I was lying completely stunned on my back with my weapon way out of hand."

Skjor winced as Aileen fastened the bandages and accidentally pricked him with the small pin she was using to hold it in place. "Damn it, Aileen, be careful."

"Stop being such a baby," snapped Aileen, her patience spent.

Skjor rolled his eyes and then turned back to me. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was completely stunned and on my back, and unable to recover my senses fast enough. The next moment, that thing was leaning over me, and lighting shot from its claws again and everything went black."

Softly Skjor moaned. "I woke up and everything hurt. I was imprisoned in this tiny cage, with all my possessions stripped from me. There were Forsworn all around me, occasionally coming in and beating me senseless again if they found me awake, and that hulking raven-like hag who took great pleasure in shocking me senseless all over again if it laid eyes on me. I have no idea how long I spent in that cage. But days must've passed. Weeks, even."

"How did you escape?" I hadn't even realized I put my hand over my mouth until I lowered it.

"By a bit of luck." Skjor closed his eyes again. "One night that creature came for me and dragged me out of the cage. I pretended to be unconscious. Anyway, it dragged me all the way towards this table. It had been for the past few days decorating it with severed and mutilated heads of goats and skeevers and even an elk. The eyes were gauged out and the fur all bloody. It looked pretty disgusting. The creature and another Forsworn put me on the table. They didn't bind my feet or hands. If they had, I probably wouldn't have made it out. Soon the Forsworn walked off, leaving the thing alone with me.

"The creature started to do this odd ominous chant. I opened my eyes a crack to see that it was holding a dagger. Whatever it was, it was going to sacrifice me to...well, to something. So I waited until the creature was going to gut me, and then I leapt up and grabbed its scaly claws before it could shock me again, and forced up the dagger, and threw it to the ground. Before I managed to make it cut its own throat, it let out this unearthly scream which undoubtedly would bring all the Forsworn running.

"I grabbed the dagger and ran. The Forsworn were all half-asleep by the time they stumbled out from their tents and hay piles and bedrolls and some of them I could put down at once. I grabbed some of the better weapons from the fallen corpses. But there were only a small number of Forsworn than there originally had been, I knew, from my time spent imprisoned. I realized that there were probably some out on patrol."

Skjor narrowed his good eye darkly. "I knew I had to get out of here. But I managed to uncover my armour. It was locked away in this big chest near one of the hay piles, along with my sword, both looking pretty thoroughly battered. Quickly I geared myself up, over the roughspun clothes that they had given me in the armour's place when they first captured me. Perhaps pausing to recover my taken goods saved my life, because as I was strapping the final bit of steel armour in place I heard the rest of the Forsworn coming back."

"And, let me guess; you butchered them all like the Skjor I know?" I guessed.

Skjor nodded. "Left them well and properly dead, including this guy who was like a beserker. Came at me with a crazy axe muttering some incomprehensible words in some long-forgotten language. The most bizarre thing that struck me about him was the fact that I could see his heart, with only a few tendons stitched over the top."

Aileen looked up suddenly. "A Briarheart?" she whispered unexpectedly. "You faced a Briarheart?"

Both Skjor and I looked at her in confusion, so quickly Aileen elaborated. "They're resurrected minions of the Reach, mindless and powerful thralls, and strong leaders amongst the Forsworn. Hagravens—the thing that nearly gutted you—take out the hearts of dead Forsworn and replace them with briars, and use ancient Hagraven magic to bring back the dead Forsworn."

Skjor narrowed his eyes. "Since when have you been such an expert on the Reach? I thought you and your brother came straight from High Rock to Skyrim."

"We did." Aileen's gaze shadowed for the briefest of moments. "But...well, much of my family were Reachmen. Most of them were butchered in the Markarth Incident." Her gaze now hardened. "I don't care about that family. But I did support my kindred. I mean, the Reach always did belong to my brethren."

"You wanted the Forsworn to rule the Reach?" Skjor sounded surprised.

"Yes, I did; many Bretons did," said Aileen quietly. "My brother Derrick and I grew up, and we were nearly old enough to leave home when the Great War happened. After it ended, and the Reachmen overthrew the Nords in the Reach, my family...well, celebrated, to put it kindly. My mother and father and the rest of my kin immediately packed up and left Tehanna, and travelled to Markarth. For a few months, Derrick and I hung around, vaguely celebrated the Nords being driven from our rightful homeland..." her voice died for a moment, as though she were ashamed.

"What happened after that?" I asked.

Aileen laughed hollowly. "Then, Derrick and I got sick of it. The Bretons here were celebrating over a massacre of what could have been innocent Nord families. Children, even. So one night we plotted to leave these Bretons behind. We weren't one of them. And the next night, we left. Never looked back towards the city of stone.

"So we journeyed as far east as we could. Came to Whiterun. My brother became a mercenary; he always had been pretty good with a mace. And I became the city alchemist's apprentice. Gradually, the Nords here came to accept us." Aileen sighed. "It was difficult, though. Many thought us to be Reachmen. But Leiknir...he saw through our heritage and bloodline and welcomed us into Jorrvaskr. Derrick and I haven't the heart to leave since."

For a moment, there was a silence. And then Aileen turned back to Skjor and said, "But you faced a Briarheart. I had only heard of them in family legend, but they were thought to be incredibly powerful. Few who face the Briarhearts ever survive."

Skjor laughed ruefully. "Guess I'm a survivor, then, aren't I? What I do know is that I left none alive. Staggered back up to Solitude and gave High King Torygg the good news, and then rode back home to Whiterun." He looked at me and said, "Well? What do you think of my riveting tale? Does that answer why I was away for longer than you thought I'd be?"

"I suppose," I said, grudgingly, though really I was amazed that Skjor had even managed to survive on his own, against a whole horde of the Forsworn. "But you got pretty chewed up in there."

"Not the worst wounds I've received," said Skjor. Stiffly, he rose to his feet. "I need to tell Kodlak the job's done. Perhaps he'll let me become a member of the Circle now."

"I'll go with you," I offered, but Skjor shook his head.

"I think I need to do this alone," he muttered. Stubbornly he moved off across Jorrvaskr and towards the undercroft, despite having a pretty nasty limp.

I went and stood near the pillaring, leaning as casually as I could against it, while Aileen cleaned up and slipped into the undercroft as well. For a while, I listened to the crackle of the flames, until I heard Skjor returning.

At once I asked, "Well?"

Skjor was grinning like a pumpkin. "Kodlak seemed contented. As soon as the members of the Circle get back, they're holding the ceremony."

I remembered something that I had not remembered earlier, and I asked, "What did Vignar want?"

"The Gray-Mane? He's still up in Solitude." Skjor shrugged. "I'm not certain what he wanted to do, but I think he was seeking council with High King Torygg. Something about Talos worship, and the Battle-Borns, though I can't be sure."

Now he looked at me squarely, and said, "Now that I've told my heroic adventure, tell me what's been happening in Jorrvaskr. Why is there a kid here?"

"Two," I replied. "It's quite a tale."

* * *

Two nights later, we all sat around the table like a huge family. Everyone had returned from their contracts, congratulated Skjor on his daring escape from the Forsworn and his mighty killing of the Briarheart, and praised him for successfully serving the High King. And his wounds had healed up a lot more as well, thanks to Aileen's clever elixirs. I don't care what many people had thought of Aileen and even her brother Derrick before. They were my Shield-Siblings now and that was all that mattered for me.

Beside me, Skjor was growing restless with excitement, as we sat at the table.

"I had my ceremony this morning," he murmured. "I'm a member of the Circle now. And they said that after supper tonight, they're taking me to this place, the Underforge, where all the members of the Circle have their meetings. I think they have something special planned for me."

"Well, congrats. Probably going to give you your special new armour Eorlund's been forging for you." Lightly I rapped against Skjor's very battered steel armour. "You aren't going to be running around in that old junker anymore."

Skjor softly laughed, and took a swig of mead. "I'm probably going to have Eorlund repair this 'old junker' and keep it as a gift to Farkas."

"Seriously? The kid's only twelve."

"And before we know it, he'll be sixteen and definitely big enough to wear it." Skjor flashed me a grin, and I certainly understood what he meant. Though Vilkas and Farkas were twins, they were quite different in comparison; Vilkas was slightly shorter, slighter, and was quick-sensed and prompt to respond. Farkas was slightly taller, and definitely broader, deeper-voiced, and a bit...slower. It was obvious who was going to be getting the most use out of Skjor's steel armour in future.

"I still can't believe it," Skjor muttered. "I'm a member of the Circle now. It's just incredible for me...I hope that I can live up to the great names."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," I assured him lightly, sipping my mead delicately.

Eiwen leaned over and added, "Definitely, I think. Songs of your great defeat of the Forsworn will be sung forever in Jorrvaskr; the mortal man who faced the thrall with the heart of thorns!"

"Shut up," said Skjor, though he sounded pleased.

I looked past Eiwen. The twins sat just beside the Bosmer. Vilkas and Farkas had both met Skjor in turn and heard his story of the Forsworn many times, and now regarded him in some kind of personal awe. Farkas, having overheard our conversation about the armour, was looking slightly pleased at the gift he would in four years' time receive from his Shield-Brother.

And then Kodlak rose from the centre of the table and a hush descended like a swooping falcon.

"My friends," Kodlak rumbled, his voice carrying clearly across the hall of Jorrvaskr, "tonight is a night of celebration!"

Cheers rang up around the table.

"One of our new bloods, Skjor, successfully completed his Trial, and has been formally accepted into the Circle," Kodlak continued. He turned and gazed Skjor dead in his good eye, and then raised his mug of mead high. "To Skjor!" he bellowed.

At once everyone at the table—even, to my approval, Farkas and Vilkas—lifted their mugs and flagons and repeated, "To Skjor!" Our voices echoed around the mead hall so it sounded as if many more were crying Skjor's name. As I drank deeply from my flagon and set it down, I glanced at Skjor. Unspeakable pride was on his face.

"And while I speak of acceptance," Kodlak continued, "I wish to make welcome formally, at the table where we all have gathered tonight, to our newest brothers." He let his gaze fall upon the twins and he raised his flagon once more.

"Welcome!" we roared, lifting our flagons again, and drinking deeply. Vilkas looked pleased and slightly embarrassed; Farkas had a puzzled but satisfied expression on his face.

"May the successes of Jorrvaskr continue to grow in these happy times!" Kodlak concluded. He sat back down, and the food, which had been tantalisingly near us but forbidden to touch until after our Harbinger's traditional commence-feast speech, was immediately transferred from platter to personal plate, and we tucked in.

It wasn't too long before most of us were filled with mead and more cheerful than usual as a result, and Skjor was feeling jolly enough to stand from the table and lead a verse of Ragnar the Red with a slightly-drunk Orgmund, who forgot the words halfway through and mistook Matilda for Myllasa. The Redguard woman solemnly promised that she would indeed chop off the heads of any who got too drunk and boastful near her. In my elation at Skjor's success, I myself started a round of The Dragonborn Comes, and Farkas and Vilkas, who both knew the words to the traditional Nord verse, joined in with the singing. Fang even poked his head out from under the table and joined in with a few deep, throaty barks at the right moments in the song, and when his head disappeared back under the table, everyone made sure to keep one eye on their dinners.

And then Eiwen began to sing, a beautiful and spirited melody which Ornith obviously knew as well, because he joined in with the tune, all sung in Elvish. When they sang the final note we all applauded, as we hadn't heard that song sung for us in quite a long time, and it really was quite pretty. And there was much chatter and laughing and merriment that lasted well into the night.

Soon most of us were contentedly exhausted and one by one the Companions rose and staggered off to bed. Vilkas and Farkas looked half asleep and didn't complain when Eiwen, chuckling to herself, shepherded them off their chairs and to their quarters.

I was about to head back to the new bloods' room myself when I suddenly saw Kodlak rise. He looked solemnly at Skjor and said, "Well, it is time."

Skjor rose quickly from his seat, eye bright with excitement. Wordlessly, Samiith, Orgmund (who suddenly seemed quite sober) and Lemaat also rose from the table and disappeared out through the back doors. Myllasa, who was still at the table, looked puzzled for a moment, as though she were wondering where her brother had gone. Soon she shrugged, rose herself, and went off to the undercroft.

"Come, Skjor," said Kodlak quietly. For some odd reason, I thought that I saw regret gleam in Kodlak's eyes for just the briefest of moments, but suddenly Kodlak's head turned and the Harbinger left Jorrvaskr as well, before I could be certain.

Skjor looked back at me, thrill dancing like a tiny light in his good eye. "This is it! Whatever they have planned for me in this Underforge place, I hope...well, I hope that I do well in it!"

I grinned. "Don't think for one moment, Circle-boy, that I haven't forgotten my oath about the antlers." But I let sincerity cross my face as I placed one hand firmly down on Skjor's shoulder, the part which hadn't been too badly damaged in his Trial and was still healing, and said, "Good luck, Skjor. I know this means a lot to you. But like any good huntress, I'm on your tail."

Skjor smiled. "I think you'll be catching up to me soon enough, Aela."

"And don't you go thinking for one moment I'm going to start treating you with any more respect than I've shown you in the time I've known you. No more than is necessary shall suffice, as it has done, right until now." I patted Skjor's shoulder and drew back. "Good luck."

"See you later." Skjor turned and headed quickly out of Jorrvaskr, not wanting to keep his new Circle-brothers waiting.

For some reason, as I heard the wooden _clunk_ of the door snapping into place behind Skjor, and the dull echo of it racing through the wide emptiness of Jorrvaskr, I felt a twinge of sorrow pierce my heart. Quickly I pushed it away. This was no time to be sad.

I looked towards the undercroft, contemplating the bed that was waiting for me. But my senses were still keen, still alert and keeping me awake. And tonight was a good night for hunting; the spring had brought much life to the plains of Whiterun. A perfect time for a huntress to be out, and sharpening her skills.

I hadn't been hunting in so long.

Smiling to myself, I turned and left Jorrvaskr—and made a mental note to find the biggest pair of antlers in the sweeping meadows around Whiterun as a gift for Skjor's success. There was not another gift so tactful that I could think of to give him.

* * *

**A/N: I found I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter. I never really thought about what kind of past Aileen and Derrick could have had, so it was really interesting to consider that some of their family were the indigenous of the Reach, before the Nords came and assumed the mantle of power.  
**

**And we'll learn even more about Aileen and Derrick's past and connections with the Forsworn in future chapters. Stay tuned, I'll have another chapter uploaded tomorrow - promise!  
**


	18. Chapter 17 - Disturbance

Chapter Seventeen

Soon Whiterun was behind me rather than around me. The grass was already wet with dew; I looked up at the sky. It was nearly midnight.

I went and visited my traps, set up at strategic points I had long memorized the locations of. Two of them, to my dismay, were empty. The third wielded a young pheasant. Smiling, I loosened the snare and plucked the bird of its sleek brown feathers. Eorlund would be grateful for them, I decided, as I stored them in my gathering bag; the bird was too scrawny to be of any good meat, so I buried the pheasant some distance away from the snare and continued north-westward.

Crouching down, I unearthed the tracks of what I recognized to be either a young buck or doe. I straightened and looked around the windblown meadows around Whiterun, as though hoping I could see the quarry just standing nearby.

I remembered how Skjor was able to see a rabbit over sixty metres away. But I had been the one to hit the rabbit, I recollected. Despite having been trained to hunt, Skjor wasn't one to use arrows, going for the smaller quarries like rabbit and pheasant and grouse with traps. Perhaps he hadn't been trained to hunt for as long as I had.

Suppressing a smirk, I set off at a steady walk, following the tracks. They wound around Whiterun, heading towards the distant Pale, though at an unhurried pace; the deer was moving on its own accord. It hadn't been startled out of its grazing zone.

The moons really were bright tonight, I thought absently, as I looked up at the clear skies. There had been much fine weather of late, and the nights were always beautiful in the spring. They were rising steadily into the centre of the sky. Pale moonbeams struck the grasslands, setting long, deceptive shadows streaking over Whiterun Hold. A perfect night for hunting.

I crouched down to investigate some tufts of fur and a few hoof prints in the soft soil near a patch of heather. I was heading in the right direction. But before I could straighten up, I suddenly heard a cry echo eerily across the plains.

I stopped. I hadn't heard that noise before.

It was almost…like a wolf's howl. But deeper, throatier, echoing with malice and hunger. And it was far louder than a lone wolf's howl alone. Yet…there was only one. I felt a chill sweep through my body and realized that it was fear.

Whatever the creature was, whatever had made that noise…it was big.

I had a sudden desire to hide. I slipped quietly into the heather. When the stiff twigs stopped rattling, I straightened just a little, listening intently.

The cry came again; and this time there were several haunting, terrible howls, mingling into one voice. Silently, I shrugged my bow from my shoulders. Suddenly, the Hold didn't feel safe. What were those animals? My mind whirled as I fought to remember all of the animal calls that Panjor had taught me; the soft, nasal sound of a deer calling to its partner, the shrill chirrups of startled pheasants taking flight, a wolf's baying bark as it pounded over its territory with its pack streaming behind, the fox's rough snarl as it faced a challenger. I thought of all the sounds that I had heard, that Panjor had made sure I had completely memorized before progressing to the next.

None of them fit with the screaming howls.

They came a third time, splitting the air, and ringing in my ears. They were drawing nearer, I realized. The calls were growing clearer, louder. I shrank back into the heather, praying it had concealed my scent. I hadn't hunted bears in so long, I didn't usually rub earth and grass onto my skin to help hide my smell from other animals. I had always thought there was no need. But these creatures…the ones that were howling…I knew that they were predators.

_If Panjor was here, he'd be talking my ear off by now,_ I thought.

And a moment later, outlined in the moonstruck grasses, I saw something emerge. It crept on all fours, and then straightened effortlessly onto its hind legs. It raised a shaggy head to the sky and howled again, and this time, there was only hunger echoing in its call. Even from here, I could see its features clearly. It was nothing but huge and monstrous, shaggy black fur covering stone-grey skin, bronze eyes glittering in the moonshine, enormous snout brimming with fangs that were probably at least four inches long…

And its claws. They were the most terrifying thing about the creature. It had five finger-like toes on its forepaws, and sprouting from each toe was a massive, curving black claw that looked wickedly sharp.

The creature growled, and sniffed the air. I could hear its husky, heavy breathing as it inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. And suddenly, with the speed of a striking snake, it had leapt forward, falling onto its forepaws, and galloped across the plains. It ran faster than anything I had ever seen; faster than any running horse, as swiftly as a swallow in flight, more gracefully than any sprinting four-legged animal.

It bounded up a slope and suddenly it disappeared over the top. I heard a pain-filled shriek of an elk fill the air for the briefest of moments, and then there was silence. A triumphant howl tore through the night. The creature reappeared, dragging the dead elk by its legs, before falling on it and beginning to feed.

'Feed' was an understatement. It literally tore the elk apart. I watched, completely riveted and paralyzed with a mixture of awe and fear, as the beast ripped into the hairy brown skin of the dead elk, pulling up clawfuls of flesh and chewing for only moments. Blood splashed its face as it devoured everything it made contact with. It tore limbs from the body, and ripped the antlered head from the neck to get at the softer tendons that had previously bound it there.

_The beast,_ I realized with a flash of horror. The beast that, several months ago, Skjor and I had discovered and followed the trail of. Leading up to Bleak Falls Barrow. The bandits there completely torn apart. The beast with the gigantic footprints. How could I have been so stupid to forget about it all this time?

What with Taija's death, Skjor's Trial, and Farkas's and Vilkas's coming to Jorrvaskr, as well as several months' absences in between filled with me doing contracts all over Skyrim, no wonder I had forgotten about the beast. Now it was back, and I was a scarce fifty or so metres away from it, which was nothing, compared to how fast I had seen the thing run.

In just moments, it had finished feeding. The elk was reduced to nothing more than scraps of fur, scattered bone, tough sinewy tendons that the thing hadn't been interested in consuming. The creature looked up sharply, and let out a soft, throaty growl which I could hear perfectly. Its massive shaggy head swung from side to side.

A wolf. It reminded me vaguely of a wolf. But what kind of wolf could grow to be seven feet tall, could walk on its hind legs, could completely tear apart an elk and finish consuming it in less than a minute, before the blood had even cooled? But the howls, the shape of the face, the slanted ears, the nightblack fur growing in thick, coarse ridges along its head, back and shoulders…

Whatever it was, it was a monster.

I felt sweat gather on my forehead. The wolf-beast suddenly raised its head, as though it had heard something else. Bright bronze eyes slowly scanned the environment around it, and suddenly it took a few paces forward, sniffing.

Shit. How good was its sense of smell? I held my breath.

And then I heard another howl, echoing near the beast. The wolf-creature half-turned its head, and to my horror, four more came charging up the slope towards the first. Their gleaming pelts rippled and shone like water in the moonshine, all nightblack. They slowed their bounding and growled, hoarsely barking to one another. It was almost as if they were speaking to each other.

How long, I asked myself, would it be until they discovered me? I had seen what one of those creatures could do to beings, and to animals; five of those creatures tearing at me would result in me immediately being reduced to nothing but scraps. And I couldn't take on all five of them, either. Too frightened to move, all I could do was crouch in the heather, and pray that it would conceal my body and mask my scent.

And then they tilted back those monstrous wolfish heads and cried to the twin moons, with deep, echoing cries. It seemed to go on and on, until I thought it was never going to stop. And then suddenly, all five of them turned and bounded west, bounding lightly and silently over the grasslands, until in a matter of seconds, I had lost sight of them.

My heart was pounding in my throat. I was terrified that they were going to come back. I stayed rock-still in the heather, waiting, listening as hard as I could. Minutes passed. I heard a howl, though it was distant, perhaps half a kilometre away. Another few minutes came and went, and I heard another call, and it sounded even more distant. They were moving away.

I softly let out my breath, not realizing I had been anxiously holding it. Cautiously, I crept out of the heather.

The first thing I did was immediately snatch a fistful of grass and earth and rub it over my face and arms and legs. Feeling a little safer, I rose into a standing position.

I couldn't see those monstrous creatures. They were probably halfway across Whiterun Hold by now.

Numbly, I looked towards the elk. The remains of it were scattered everywhere. The antlers twisted and broken. Blood splattering the grass everywhere. Body parts detached from bones. I clasped a hand over my mouth, horrified at what I saw. No ordinary creature could mutilate something like an elk.

Abruptly I twisted away and retched, completely revolted at what I saw. When I finally got a handle on myself again, I shakily approached the elk carcass again, feeling queasy. Before I fled back to Whiterun, and raised the alarm that a potential pack of monstrous beasts were now roaming the Hold, I had to confirm, I had to be sure, that these were the same beasts who had torn the bandits apart on Bleak Falls Barrow.

I knelt down. Paw prints were outlined clearly in the trampled earth. Though I hadn't seen these markings for months, there was no mistaking the gigantic pawprints, shaped like the prints of a wolf but twice as large as any full-grown wolf's foot.

These were the same beasts. I swallowed with difficulty. Kodlak would have to be told immediately. The monsters were capable of tearing anything apart.

But he would probably be asleep now. I rose shakily, and looked uncertainly back towards Whiterun. Every single member of the Circle would be asleep. None of them would appreciate being shaken awake at this hour; not even Skjor. They would've long concluded their secret ceremony in the Underforge place by now.

And the beasts, I reasoned, weren't heading to a civilization. They were heading deeper into Whiterun wilderness. And hopefully they would just keep feeding on what the Hold's wilderness offered them. Elk, deer, pheasants…a loss of prey for me, but I'd rather leave the quarries for the beasts to claim if it meant they would leave me—and civilization—alone.

For a moment, I considered going after them. I could follow their tracks, and keep to the shadows, and eliminate them one by one with skilful shots to the head. But I decided against it. Those beasts were formidable. If they found where I was, it'd be all over for me. And I knew nothing about them; nothing about their strengths, their weaknesses…it would be nothing but fatal to try and pursue them now. Grudgingly, I'd need the help of several Shield-Siblings who were skilled enough to meet these animals more head-on. I doubted my Ancient Nord armour would provide the best protection from those creatures' severing claws.

Reluctantly I turned away, and hurried back to Whiterun.

* * *

I had pretty nasty dreams that night. I dreamed that I was hunting in the wilderness of Whiterun. I had found many decent kills, and had plenty of meats and hides to take back to Hulda and Eorlund. And then, all of a sudden, the moon came out, bright as silver, and the comforting darkness of night vanished in a flash. Surrounding me were five huge beasts, all with steely-grey skins and nightblack fur and with glittering bronze eyes.

They snarled, and advanced. I drew my dagger, but before I could even strike down one of the great beasts, they leapt, and pinned me down helplessly to the ground, and four-inch-long fangs dangled near my throat. And as I stared into the face of the wolf who had trapped me and had me at its mercy, I saw its left eye suddenly become fainter in colour, until it was completely white, and Skjor's voice issued from the creature's mouth: "You shouldn't have tried to find out the truth."

And then it lunged and darkness overtook my vision, and in a flash, my eyes flew open and I sat up abruptly, my hands at my throat, and a frozen scream of _no!_ lodged there.

"Aela!" Eiwen looked up with some alarm. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah…fine…" Shakily, I lowered my hand, and realized my whole body was pretty much paralyzed with fright. Stiffly, I swung myself to the edge of the bed and gripped the blankets uncertainly, feeling myself tremble a little. Trying to recompose myself, I said, "Just a nightmare."

Eiwen slowly nodded. "You look pretty tired, though," she pointed out. "Have you been night hunting again?"

Night hunting. The beasts. The beasts in my dream and in the waking world…the elk, torn apart…the bandits at the Barrow…

In a flash I stood up. "Where's Kodlak?"

"Harbinger's in his quarters. He told us he's not to be disturbed," said Eiwen.

I narrowed my eyes. "Is he awake?"

"Yes, but he doesn't want to be—"

Eiwen didn't finish her sentence. The moment she had said 'yes' I had leapt to my feet and crossed the room in a few strides, flung open the door, and swept out.

The undercroft was empty. I frowned. Either it was really early and everyone was upstairs having breakfast or it was really late and everyone was upstairs doing their business in Jorrvaskr. The door to Kodlak's quarters were closed but urgency was simmering in the depths of my gut. I—no, Orgmund—had supposedly told Kodlak about the beast's tracks and what had happened in the Barrow, and Kodlak had told me that there had been no reports of any kind of beast prowling through the Holds, though the Harbinger had sent caution letters to each Jarl and informed the Jarl of Whiterun personally of the danger. It had literally disappeared. Kodlak needed to hear immediately that the beast was back, and what was more, had four more equally as dangerous and as savage with it, forming a deadly pack.

As far as I cared, Kodlak could be disturbed for this.

But as I neared the door, I realized that it was ajar. Just slightly, but enough for sound to come through. I prepared to open the door but the words I heard within made me stop dead still.

"That was too close last night." That was Kodlak's voice.

"How was I to know that she'd be out then?" The speaker was now Orgmund.

"Nobody did. She told no-one she went out," responded Kodlak quietly. "It was by luck we managed to avert his attention."

"Why do we even let her go out night-hunting?" Orgmund's voice was suddenly angry, even harsh. "It's growing increasingly dangerous. You know I can't—"

"I know that," Kodlak replied sternly. "It's growing more difficult for Samiith as well."

I slowly took one step back, but only to position myself nearer the door, to steady my breathing. What were they talking about? What was growing more difficult for Samiith to do?

"Why do we even continue it?" Orgmund muttered, after a while. "It's doing nobody good. We've just poisoned another one, damned his soul forever. Has he come around yet?"

"Yes, yes; even enough to head upstairs," replied Kodlak. "He coped remarkably well, considering how difficult it was for you to accept the change."

"Not well enough. The boy went completely feral. Lost all sense and memory, thought everything that moved and wasn't black was enemy. What if he had seen her? She'd have been dead before we'd called him back."

I frowned, leaning in a little more. What _were_ they talking about?

"The first time is always the one time when they lose completely who they are," Kodlak said softly. "The next time he chooses to bring it forward, he will have all senses this time." Suddenly I heard a soft chinking of armour and the relieved creak of a chair, and Kodlak spoke again. "Come. We have spent too long dwelling on worries that will have to be dealt with more personally in the future. I wish to find our newest member of the Circle."

I remembered that I was still standing in front of the door. I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping. Quickly I leapt away from the slightly-ajar door and straightened just as it opened.

For a moment, I held the gazes of Orgmund and Kodlak, who stood in the doorway and obviously were not expecting to see me there.

Kodlak was the first to speak.

"Ah, Aela," he said. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

"I shouldn't have slept for so long," I told Kodlak, getting straight to the point. "When I was hunting last night I found that beast which had mutilated the bandits up at the Barrow. But it wasn't alone this time. More were with it?"

"How many more?" Orgmund asked sharply. I saw a shadow of fear suddenly pass over his face.

"Four," I replied steadily. "In total there are five of those creatures. Trust me when I say they could be a real danger to Skyrim." Turning to my Harbinger, I added, "It would be wise for you to heed my words, Kodlak. I would have taken them myself, if I hadn't witnessed one of them treating an elk the way it treated the bandits."

Orgmund's eyes suddenly narrowed.

I looked expectantly at Kodlak. "What do you want us to do about the beasts? The danger's risen! There could be more of those creatures coming into Skyrim at any time."

Kodlak frowned. And as he did, I realized...his face. It was much more heavily lined. His hair seemed to be a little wilder, his eyes almost feverishly bright. But the Harbinger said, "I will send out more warnings, if it will put your mind at ease, Aela. But I advise you; do not go after the beasts. If what you say is true, then they will be formidable."

"Why don't you send Companions to kill them?" I demanded. "We can't have them running amok over the Hold!"

Kodlak shook his head. "No, we can't. But we cannot spare anyone. And most likely, those beasts will have just disappeared again. I have heard of no deaths related to these strange creatures that you have discovered. So for now, we can only hope that they stay to the wilds."

"Why not send a force now to be rid of them?"

"Because I need most of my Companions here at Jorrvaskr and the others doing the contracts; we've been receiving plenty more regarding the Forsworn of late, since Skjor returned from the Reach," Kodlak responded. "And I'm not sending anyone alone anymore. I need you here as well, Aela. I cannot spare you, not at this time."

I relaxed, slightly. Though I was still angry that Kodlak wasn't sending the Companions after those monsters—with shivers, I kept thinking of Rorikstead, how defenceless that little isolated hometown of mine was—I also felt a solemn sense of responsibility as well in me. My Harbinger needed me. I liked that feeling of being needed. "What do you need me to do?"

"I have a contract for you. Down in Riften. A pack of trolls have been reported to have been attacking Shor's Stone lately and they want a skilled huntress to track them down and kill them."

That sounded exactly like my kind of task. "Very well. When do I head out?"

"The moment you're ready." Kodlak gave me a slip of parchment. "Here's the contract and who to speak to when you arrive at Shor's Stone. But make sure you get something to eat before you leave...and you never know what you're going to find beyond the Hold."

* * *

Skjor was upstairs. The moment I left the undercroft, I saw him, seated at a bench near the fire, his eyes closed, as if he were dozing. But when he heard the undercroft door slam, he looked up, fixing his one good eye on me.

"Wondered when you'd finally get up here," he said.

"Well, I'm here now," I responded. Halfway towards him, I stopped.

Skjor...didn't look quite like Skjor. His face was more sharply outlined. His eyes—both of them, even the milky-white blind one—seemed to shine a little brighter than before. And his skin seemed a touch greyer. Just a touch. He looked completely worn out.

"What happened?" I asked.

Panic, for the briefest of moments, flashed in Skjor's eyes. The next, it was gone. "Nothing," he responded. "Except getting this." He half-held out his arms, and I looked more closely at Skjor, and realized...his armour had changed as well as his face. He was wearing the same deep tan-brown, wolf-fur-edged armour that Kodlak wore.

"Looks good on you," I said, and I meant it.

Skjor smiled. It was the same coy grin that I remembered, and yet...that, too, was different. Had his teeth always been so pointed? "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself, after only just waking up."

Damn. I'd forgotten to comb my hair. And I realized with a squirm of self-embarrassment that I was still covered with dirt. I really needed to take a bath. "Whatever," I replied. "But I'm heading off on a contract soon enough, so you'll have to survive without me for a couple of days or two."

Skjor shrugged. "Think I can handle it," he said. "Still trying to adapt to the fact I'm a member of the Circle now."

I nodded. "Can you do me one favour while I'm gone? There's a sack full of feathers near my bed. If you'd take those up to Eorlund I'd be grateful."

"Now, by a sack full of feathers, do you mean a pillow or...?"

"The sack. Not the pillow. You take my pillow and you will be sorry."

Skjor chuckled. "All right, all right. The sack."

"Thanks." As I turned to walk away, I glanced back at Skjor and added, "You decide to do any hunting out in Whiterun, be careful; you know that beast we found the tracks of leading up to Bleak Falls Barrow a few months ago?"

Skjor's eye narrowed, as though he was cautious. "Yes."

"That beast's back in Whiterun. It's got four more and it's moving in a pack. Be careful, they nearly found me last night."

Was I mistaken? Did Skjor suddenly look afraid? But the next moment he had said, "All right, I'll make a note to find the tracks again. I'll keep an eye on their movements while you're away."

"Don't you dare follow them without me. We hunt together."

"Sure, boss."

But there was a strange way that he said it that made me think...he knew more than he was letting on. And he refused to tell me.

I narrowed my eyes. I was sick of the Circle always keeping things from me. First Kodlak, and now Skjor. Were all the Nords I was close to never going to start truly trusting me? I spun on heel and marched back down to the undercroft, not bothering to hide my disdain and anger. If Skjor wasn't going to tell me what was going on, then I'd find out myself.

Eventually.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this took longer than I thought getting this chapter uploaded - busy, busy day...  
**

**Anyway, review and tell me how you're liking the story. Soon to come, Chapter Eighteen. Stick around, I'll try to get it uploaded tonight.  
**

**By the way, thank you all those who have looked at The Huntress! I've had over 720 views in just three days! You guys are awesome. And I always get a jumpy happy feeling in my gut whenever I see a new review appear. They really make my day :)  
**


	19. Chapter 18 - The Apprentices

**A/N: Welcome back to The Huntress! This is chapter eighteen, set roughly four years after Aela first entered Whiterun and joined the Companions. Hope you enjoy; it's gonna feature several characters you know so far as the main stars of the next few chapters, and characters you haven't really gotten to know yet...**

**(don't forget to review :)  
**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

I crouched down, and brushing some grass out of the way, outlined the track of the elk clearly to Farkas.

"Feel it," I invited him. "It's quite firm, in this summer heat."

Farkas very carefully crouched down beside me and rubbed his fingers along the edges of the footprint. "It's rough," he commented.

"Yes. That's the dirt you're feeling. What do you notice about the shape?"

Farkas's brow creased in concentration. "Um...it's...rough?"

I sighed inwardly. Sometimes, even Kodlak was a little concerned at Farkas's...slowness. "The shape, Farkas, the shape."

Farkas looked as if he was concentration, but couldn't figure it out.

"Look." I gently tapped the footprint and said, "Do you see the shape of the footprint?"

"Yeah."

"It's deeper than the ones previously, yes? And the earth, it's more disturbed than the previous footprints. Do you agree?"

"Yeah."

I had a feeling that Farkas was just agreeing with me, and that he didn't have a clue what I was saying.

I looked up quickly and said, "I say, this hoof print is so fresh that the elk we've been following is just over that rise."

"Um...okay." Farkas rested one hand on the hilt of his skinning knife, as if it were a lethal dagger, and said carefully, "So...we kill it?"

"Yes, Farkas, that's the whole point of hunting. But not in the way that I believe you were going to attempt." I moved his hand away from the knife. "Elk are easily startled. You need to be subtle when you get up to them, and swift when you dispatch of them." I found myself repeating one of Panjor's old proverbs of hunting, and hoped that at least some of it, such as 'subtle', would enter Farkas's and not go out the other ear.

Farkas looked confused. "So how do we kill it, then?"

"With this." I shrugged the bow from my shoulders and lightly rapped the hilt so it got Farkas's attention. "I hope you've been practicing with the wooden bow Myllasa gave you. You'll be showing me how well you can shoot today."

Farkas looked slightly worried, though I guessed it was just apprehension. "Follow me," I said to him. "And stay quiet, for Kyne's sake."

"I can't always help it," Farkas muttered quietly. "Every stick and twig just wants to crack itself beneath my feet."

"It's where you decide to put your feet that decides on the noise you make," I responded tartly. An old stealth skill, and another proverb old Panjor had taught me.

Carefully we crept up the rise. Well, I carefully crept up the rise; looking back at Farkas, the young sixteen-year-old Nord was making about as much noise moving his feet as a serpent hissing. I stifled an irritated sigh of frustration, and forced myself not to snap at the adolescent. I could see that he was trying—just not succeeding.

When we reached the top, I held out my hand, hoping Farkas would stop when he saw it, and peered over the clumped tussocks of grass. There, I saw, was the elk, subtly grazing alongside a doe, and another buck, all spaced out in different areas. I smiled to myself, realizing that this could easily have been a test Panjor had set up for me. Now I could transfer his old test to Farkas.

I turned to him and muttered, "See the three elk?"

Farkas nodded.

"Identify them."

"Um, what?"

I sighed. If I had asked Panjor 'um, what?' to the words 'identify', he probably would have given me such a long lecture it would be unlikely I'd ever hesitate again. I had told Farkas over and over what to do. But memory for words wasn't Farkas's strong point. Nor was stealth.

"Observe the elk," I said to Farkas, as nicely as I could without sounding sarcastic. "Identify which one will make the best kill."

Farkas hesitated for a moment, looking over the grassy ridge, and then sighed irritably and shook his head. "I can't, Aela, I'm sorry," he growled, frustrated. "I just..."

"Never mind," I said quickly. When Farkas began to grow frustrated, it was wise to try and end it quickly; otherwise he would tend to go on, trying to find the right words to place to expel his irritation in the process. I pointed quickly to the nearest elk and murmured to Farkas, "The largest one, he has most of his back turned to us. From where we are, we can't get at his head, his most vital area. The second one, the doe, she has her flanks directly revealed to us and her head bowed low; she's completely relaxed in her environment, not bothering to check for danger. And the buck, the furthest, he has half his body turned away to the east, but is very skittish, always looking up and expecting to find danger nearby. Now, which one do you aim for?"

It was too easy for me, if Panjor had asked me the question. Almost boring. I had deliberately made it as simple as I could for Farkas. His brow creased. He seemed to go deep into thought, looking over the three elk. He was concentrating, but even so, it took about one minute before Farkas was ready to give his final answer; "The doe, right?"

"Yes, the doe." I sighed slowly, trying not to let weariness stain my voice, and pushed the bow towards Farkas. "You take the shot. Do you know where to strike—?"

"Head, heart, throat or gut," Farkas muttered so quickly the words were nearly incomprehensible. For a moment, I was startled that Farkas had responded so quickly to a question, and then I smiled. Farkas was a born warrior, there was no mistaking it; he was physically very, very strong, and so matured already that he looked nearly full-grown. He favoured a two-handed weapon, and had befriended Eorlund up at the Skyforge enough for the blacksmith to present him with a sleek, honed Skyforge steel greatsword on Farkas's sixteenth birthday (he had presented Vilkas with a unique jade amulet he himself had sculpted, so the twin wasn't to be left out). Though Farkas's mental capacities weren't up to scratch, he made up for it with his physical abilities, mastering everything to do with moving the body in the heat of battle, to become with the heavy and deadly greatsword he wielded, to know the vital areas where to strike (head, heart, throat or gut, Farkas was often heard to intone under his breath), until Skjor had taken to the duty of being his personal trainer. Farkas could match most of the whelps and even some members of the Circle, and he had won the respect of many of the Companions.

Unfortunately, though Farkas could move with the grace of Ornith and his twin Skyforge Katanas in battle, he was clumsy and awkward without greatsword in hand. Subtlety was definitely something Farkas had to learn, though remarkably the boy had more patience than I could believe possible. Now I watched as he fumbled uncertainly with the bow, and then roughly drew an arrow from the makeshift quiver I had given him to wear on days I trained him to hunt.

Briefly I helped him knock the arrow to the bowstring, and then watched as Farkas stiffly raised it, and pulled the string back hard. The only part of archery lessons he had no trouble with was pulling the bowstring back to the point of breaking it. The boy's strength knew no bounds.

"Aim," I murmured. "You're facing too far west."

Farkas narrowed his eyes but seemed to have forgotten which way was west and which way was east. He shifted the bow in the wrong direction. Before I could mutter, "Wrong way," his arm slipped suddenly and he fumbled the bowstring. The arrow shot out and thudded into the ground an embarrassing one and a half metres away from the foot of the doe. At once her head shot up, and she brayed a warning, and a heartbeat later all three elk were bounding away from us across the meadows.

"Oops." Farkas looked sheepish.

I sighed softly. "Never mind." Farkas was yet to make his first kill. I took the bow back from him and slung it over my shoulders and helped my would-be apprentice up. "Run and get your arrow. That's enough hunter training for today."

_Or, heck, for eternity,_ I thought, as I watched Farkas run down the slope, take about three minutes to find his arrow, and then effortlessly tug it from the ground and slip it with difficulties back into his quiver. I didn't even know why I took Farkas out for hunting training. Even I was better at hunting as an eight-year-old than he was at sixteen. It was difficult, keeping my patience sometimes, but somehow we managed to get through our weekly sessions of hunting, usually unsuccessfully.

"Good lad." I took back the arrow.

Farkas seemed a bit downtrodden as we walked steadily back to Whiterun, so to lighten the mood a bit, I asked Farkas, "So, anything new happening with you and Skjor?"

Almost immediately Farkas brightened, after the two-point-three seconds it took for him to register the question (his normal average). "Skjor's teaching me how to do this really complicated maneuver; something like a back-hand swipe that could probably chop off the legs of whoever I'm facing if I strike them right," he said.

_By the Gods, his voice grows deeper every day,_ I thought.

"Well, Skjor's a pretty good teacher when it comes to skill, as well as Ornith," I said. Above me, I watched a hawk lazily circle above the latesummer sun. I sighed in pleasure at the warmth that fell over my armour. What was the month now? Ah, yes; the end of Last Seed. Nearly four years had passed since I had joined the Companions. And though today was the supposed Harvest's End festival—currently in Whiterun, the farmers were all celebrating in the Bannered Mare for a successful year's harvest—I knew in Rorikstead, their own Heartfire harvest was soon to commence.

Vilkas and Farkas were both sixteen, and well into their training. Sometimes, at the table, some of the new bloods would comment on the twins' diversity, in body size, actions, and strengths. It was a common thing to say now that Farkas was thought to have been born with the strength of Ysgramor, and his brother Vilkas with his smarts.

And with me having been with the Companions for soon-to-be four years now, and being twenty-two years old, Kodlak gave me the role of teaching each of the brothers the basics of hunting. "May come in useful," he often said.

I enjoyed the days when I could take Vilkas out for hunter training. It was also a relief to take him out instead of Farkas. Don't get me wrong; I had a fondness for Farkas, as everyone had in Jorrvaskr. But sometimes his less-than-average mental capacities left me completely exasperated. I'm nowhere near as patient as Farkas is. So it was good to spend time with Vilkas, who was both very clever and thoughtful, and a skilled two-handed-bladesman like his brother. What thrilled me was that Vilkas had quite taken to archery, and though he didn't spend quite as much time working on honing down his archery skills as he did with his blades tactics, he was nonetheless focused and earnest when I taught him.

What was quite remarkable was that sometimes Vilkas could prove to be quite the tactician. Whenever he got into a conversation with some of the new bloods, he could prove quite a point, and look at all sides of the story before drawing a conclusion. Myllasa often said to me that she thought Vilkas was becoming as wise as Kodlak, and that perhaps one day he'd make a good Harbinger.

_The twins are an invaluable addition to Jorrvaskr,_ I thought.

We re-entered Whiterun. Farkas looked contentedly around the city that he long ago had called home.

"Spot Vilkas anywhere?" I inquired.

"Nah. Must be up in Jorrvaskr." Quickly Farkas headed up along the path and I fell into step beside him. "I'm thinking of challenging my brother to a duel," he commented after a moment. "Do you think that's allowed?"

"If it's a formal duel, then yes," I replied. "If it's unorganized, like a brawl in Jorrvaskr, then you'll only get Orgmund's scorn. Trust me, that's worse than being beaten by an old woman anyday."

Farkas slowly nodded, perhaps remembering fading childhood memories of Honourhall Orphanage. "And you don't want—"

The rest of his words were broken off when he accidentally blundered straight into a young woman who had been walking in the opposite direction. She was knocked off her feet, and the basket she was carrying flew out of her hands. Alchemical ingredients spilled out everywhere.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Farkas said quickly, looking appalled at what he had done.

"There's a time and a place for your mind to wander," I scolded Farkas, as I kneeled down beside the slightly-dazed young woman. I wasn't surprised she was a bit senseless; Farkas was as solid as a slowly moving boulder. Farkas helped by kneeling and carefully gathering up the fallen ingredients.

"Are you all right?" I asked the woman, helping her get to her feet.

Dazedly she nodded. "Sorry...shouldn't have let myself daydream..."

She had that unmistakable accent of an Imperial. I had lived long enough in Whiterun to begin to tell the differences between the races by their voices alone. I picked up her basket and invited Farkas to put the ingredients back into that. Sheepishly Farkas dropped a few plants and twigs and mushroom caps into the basket.

"Thank you," said the woman, as she knelt down and gathered up her fallen ingredients with much more efficiency.

"Are any damaged?" I asked. "Do you need anything replaced?"

"No, no...wait!" The Imperial picked up a blisterwort cap and inspected it, eyes falling on a small tear. Then she replied, "No, false alarm, it's still potent." She put the cap back in her basket, and when the last ingredients were gathered she thanked Farkas again and picked it up.

"Thanks for the help," she said, about to continue on her way. Then she paused and her gaze hesitated on me. "You wouldn't happen to be with the Companions, would you?"

"Yes, actually. I'm Aela the Huntress."

The woman nodded knowledgeably. "So I heard. Most of the folk in Whiterun speak of you. Say your skill in hunting is unmatched."

"I don't claim to be the best huntress in Skyrim, but perhaps in Whiterun, I may be," I replied.

"More than that; you've helped out my mentor a few times," said the Imperial. "You brought her several ingredients out in the wilds of Skyrim when you were away adventuring."

My gaze travelled to the ingredients in the woman's arms, and said, "You're Faiwen's apprentice, aren't you? Over at her alchemy shop."

The Imperial nodded, pleased that she had been recognized. "You can call me Arcadia," she said. "I'm training to an alchemist. Only came up to Whiterun a month or two ago from the Imperial City in Cyrodiil." She scowled. "The problem is, most of the Nords here, those Gray-Manes especially, seem to think that because I'm an Imperial I back up the Thalmor. Their suspicions were only increased when I became Faiwen's apprentice." Irritably she sighed. "Just because we're both foreigners here doesn't mean we're bad!"

"Don't worry; just keep doing what you're doing and impress those around you with your talent and you'll become accepted before you know it," I replied, remembering all too clearly how difficult it had been for me to fit into bustling city life, after a rather sedate eighteen years in the simple farm town of Rorikstead. "And I'll have a word with the Gray-Manes. They've no right to treat you with inhospitality just because of your race."

Arcadia looked grateful. "Thanks. I won't forget your kindness. Drop by if you ever need a potion or two!"

And then we all continued on our way again. Looking back at Farkas, I said to him, "Don't let your mind wander. If you'd bumped into say a guardsman, there'd be a bigger ordeal."

Farkas nodded. "Right. I'll try to be more careful next time."

"See that you do."

By the time we reached Jorrvaskr, and passed beneath the comforting shade of the Gildergreen as we did so, we could hear the clanging of metal echoing from the training area around the back. Farkas brightened, and he said slowly, "It sounds like Vilkas is having a training session."

We headed around the mead hall, and sure enough, saw Vilkas wielding blade, and facing (to my surprise) Ornith. The Dunmer looked every bit as focused as he had on the day I myself had faced him, and the day that Skjor had returned from his Trial. I looked around; I saw that many of the Companions were sitting in the chairs and at the tables beneath the cool shade of the back door overhang, and observing Ornith and Vilkas with considerable interest.

I saw Skjor leaning casually against one of the pillars that held up the overhang, and he turned and grinned at me as I approached. "Noticed how well young Vilkas is coming along in his training?" he remarked.

"I've just been out hunting with Farkas," I replied. "So obviously I haven't."

Skjor chuckled, and nodded to Vilkas. "So watch. Vilkas is feeling brave enough to survive a training bout with Ornith."

"No kidding?" I looked towards where Vilkas and Ornith stood, facing each other, blades in hand. Ornith wielded his twin Katanas; Vilkas gripped his steel greatsword tightly, and frowned as he looked towards the Dunmer, measuring him up with clear grey eyes.

"I could take Ornith right here and now," said Farkas beside me, contemplating the Dark Elf.

I looked towards Farkas. "Maybe. You're getting pretty sharp in your training with Skjor, so I hear. But I'll say this; you two have come further as apprentices than most of us whelps here." _Even Myllasa._ She'd been with the Companions for a good fifteen to sixteen years now. Nobody called her a new blood anymore, though.

There was a sudden clattering of steel; Ornith had pressed the advantage and brought the two blades sweeping down in a swift movement to Vilkas. I expected the sword to go flying out of the teen's hands, but with the speed of the wind Vilkas had twisted, raised his arms and lowered the blade, and parried off the blow like a master.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

"He's pretty good, isn't he?" Farkas grinned.

"...pretty good," I agreed.

"You can drop the attitude; you don't fool me," said Skjor, his good eye glittering with amusement. "I've been with you far too long, miss Huntress, to know when and when you aren't impressed."

"Is that through a trial-and-error method?" I inquired.

Ornith brought the Skyforge Katanas whirling through the air. Vilkas didn't bother trying to block. He ducked his head and moved to the side, straightening up as soon as the two blades had whisked over his head, nearly snipping his dark hair. In a flash, he had straightened up, and while Ornith was momentarily disorientated, Vilkas charged, sweeping the greatsword around.

Through long experiences adventuring through all four points of Skyrim, I knew that if a common mercenary had been staggered like that, and Vilkas had made a charge as he had done just then, the foe would have immediately been rendered...pretty much dead. But also, through several experiences with Ornith as my Shield-Brother, I knew that the wily Dunmer was no common mercenary. Swiftness had always been his key. That, and accuracy.

In a flash Ornith had rolled to the side, dodging Vilkas's blow. The force of delivering it sent Vilkas staggering slightly. Immediately Ornith charged. The Katanas were pointed towards Vilkas's chest. The young lad spun around to face the blow.

What happened next occurred so quickly that if I had blinked, I probably would have missed it.

Vilkas brought the blade up. The flat face of the side of his greatsword, which faced outward, collided with the points of the Katanas. With a flick of his wrists, Vilkas swept the greatsword to the side, forcing the Katanas to skitter clumsily one way. One leg came out; catching Ornith a crippling blow to the knee, the Dunmer staggered, in time for Vilkas to bring his weapon sweeping around. The edge of the sword collided with Ornith's helmet. With a grunt, he was knocked aside and onto his back, his weapons rolling out of reach.

Immediately Vilkas loomed over Ornith and pressed the greatsword to his throat. The crimson eyes looked startled for a moment, as though he had not at all expected to be felled by a sixteen-year-old. They held the pose for a moment, until it became certain who had won the bout. And then Vilkas stepped back, and sheathed the sword over his shoulder, and helped Ornith rise to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Vilkas asked, concerned. "I didn't hit you too hard, did I?"

Ornith shook his head. "No, boy. This helmet, I had Eorlund steel-plate beneath the leather. And I'm damned glad I did; if I hadn't, you wouldn't beheaded me there and then."

Vilkas wasn't sure whether to look pleased or horrified at this, so he settled for an indifferent expression.

"Nice job," commented Skjor to me, though he didn't sound surprised. "The lad's got a good eye, good strength and a good heart. He's going to make a very fine warrior one day."

"He'll make the best," grunted Farkas defensively.

Myllasa, who had been sitting unnoticed at one of the tables just outside the back doors, said now, "I don't think anyone's going to believe that you beat Ornith in a training bout, Vilkas. Nobody has in at least fourteen months."

Vilkas looked thrilled almost immediately. "Wow...guess I'm pretty good, then."

"You're the best," said Farkas, marching out from beneath the overhang to congratulate his brother. "Soon you'll even be able to beat me."

Vilkas gave his brother a fond smile. "If I can't beat you already, then I'm not the best, am I?"

Farkas paused to think over these words. Then, eventually, not making up his mind, he repeated, "You're the best."

Skjor softly chuckled and shook his head slowly. "Amazing, how close they are, despite being so different, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "Bloodbound brothers are generally closer than oath-bound brothers," I commented. And then I fell silent. I had barely given a thought to my own family, my bloodbound family, in the four years I had spent in Whiterun. But...how old would Lokir and Ulfgar be now? They'd be nineteen and twenty, and almost certainly would have left Rorikstead by now, if they hadn't already.

Vaguely I wondered where they had gone in life. Where had they taken their separate paths? Had they travelled to Riften? The rumoured Thieves Guild there might have been their idea of survival.

_They aren't my brothers,_ I reminded myself. _The love died between us a long time ago. _Looking around at the Companions I could see, and those who I already knew, who were out in the wilds of Skyrim completing contracts, and the new bloods who would come and who would go in future...they were my true family.

"Hey," murmured Skjor, giving me a nudge. "Wake up. You've got company."

I frowned, resurfacing from my memories, to see Vignar Gray-Mane approaching me.

"You're wanted," he said.

"By who and for what?" I asked immediately.

"Jarl Igvund wants to see you," said Vignar. He jerked his head up to the outline of Dragonsreach to confirm this, and added, "But for what, I don't have a clue. But he's up there, with Kodlak at the moment." His clear gaze narrowed. "I don't know what the Jarl wants with you, but you'd best be polite. He seemed pretty earnest when he sent me as a messenger to you."

I was startled. "You sure that the Jarl wants to see me?"

Vignar nodded. "Now hurry up and get up there. The Jarl isn't one to wait, and he's pretty pissed about something, big time. And for the sake of Talos, girl, swallow your stubbornness and your pride for just one hour or two and act like a normal and dignified woman when you speak to Igvund."

I narrowed my eyes. "Sorry, Vigs. It's not that easy to let go of one's attitude for the sake of another."

"You may have to. Igvund's got another visitor up there; another Jarl decided to pay him a 'friendly' visit." Vignar looked very seriously at me as he added, "And I don't think Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak takes Companion arrogance as easily as we do."

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**A/N: Cliffhanger time...sorry, sorry, sorry, but I've got a LOT of things to do tomorrow, so I'll try and get chapter nineteen up in at LEAST a couple of days. Hate to keep you guys waiting, am getting so many viewings *makes completely indescribable thrilled face***

**Please leave comments - still waiting anxiously for anyone who thinks Orgmund should be a good or an evil Companion in the future. Leave a review with your answer and anything else you wish to say. Thanks so much to all who's been reading this story up to this point. It means a lot to me.  
**


	20. Chapter 19 - Affairs of Jarls

Chapter Nineteen

_Jarl Ulfric? What in Ysmir's beard does he want with me?  
_

I headed up the stone steps to the gigantic palace, Dragonsreach, perched atop the very top of the hill of Whiterun. The palace truly was enormous, as I stood in front of the wooden double doors and looked straight up, towards the distant tops of the palace. But I didn't have much time to goggle over the size of Dragonsreach; I was expected. Quickly I pushed my way through the double doors and into the palace.

Was everything about this place big? The palace seemed to have no roof; it stretched right up into the many layers of rafters, where sunlight spilled through and lit the front of the palace. Quickly I walked across the first landing and up a small series of wooden steps.

Around a mighty fire that burned in a hearth in the very centre of the hall were two tables, standing parallel to the crackling flames. A few people who resided in Dragonsreach were seated at the table, eating and drinking the magnificent food and wine that had been laid out by the palace's servants. They looked up and watched me somewhat apprehensively, which didn't help my own subtle nervousness. I looked towards the throne, to see the Jarl of Whiterun seated there, speaking quietly with a burly man who wore shaggy bear fur over storm-grey chainmail armour, and who was about as large as Orgmund.

Kodlak was there as well, to my surprise. I hadn't expected the Harbinger to be in this discussion with the Jarls, but of course he would have been present. The Companions didn't send me to hear it out alone, probably because I was a whelp. Trying to keep my frustration hidden, I strode around the fire and the gazes of the three men flicked towards me.

"So this is the Huntress of who you speak so warmly of, Harbinger?" asked Jarl Igvund.

It made me aware that I had not ever seen the Jarl of Whiterun before. He was a lean Nord with a bushy golden beard fading fast in colour, and very long golden hair streaked with grey twisted into a loose ponytail behind his back. His eyes were bright and pale blue and flashed like minnows in water in his heavily-lined head. He wore a rare gold-and-ruby circlet atop his brow, and handsome flowing robes extravagantly embroidered.

The man in the shaggy bear-fur-chainmail frowned. "She doesn't look like much."

He had a surprisingly deep voice, which echoed with a kind of power that took me by surprise. I looked towards this man and realized that he had to be Jarl Ulfric of Eastmarch. He had that imposing air about him of one who had wielded the mantle of authority long enough for him to command a certain aura of respect from those who were around him.

But he couldn't have been the Jarl for very long, I realized. The man looked only in his late twenties. But there was no doubt about his strength. Someone who could be that broad and wear armour for formal royal clothing had to be a warrior.

"Trust me, I'm the best at what I do," I responded.

"Catching rabbits?" Ulfric raised one eyebrow.

"Much more than that," I responded, feeling my anger rise. "Nothing hides from me. Nothing. I find their tracks and follow them until I find where they are. And when I do find them...I put my arrows to good use. Do you want me to give you a demonstration where exactly I like hitting them?"

"Enough," snapped Jarl Igvund, as Ulfric's brow furrowed and his face tightened. "We did not call you here to argue, Huntress." He turned to Kodlak, and muttered, "She speaks of the necessary skills forthrightly. But she is headstrong. Do you think she's really ready for this?"

I looked towards my Harbinger, my scowl deepening. Did he think I wasn't capable? But Kodlak wasn't looking at me as he replied, "Of course. Aela may be fiery but she's loyal—and she's got a good head on her shoulders. And what we need from her for this matter, she does each day and night for a pastime. Her skills are invaluable to us."

The Jarl of Whiterun looked dissatisfied for a moment, but he turned back to me nonetheless and remarked, "Very well. I'll trust her with this mission. This once."

I folded my arms, wanting to prove myself to this doubtful Nord. "Good. Now, what is it I have to do?"

"There are confirmed reports of strange goings-on happening in the Reach," said Jarl Igvund. "The Forsworn are growing restless once again. They've been ambushing caravans and wreaking havoc across the hold. The Jarl of Markarth has asked for the Companions' assistance in this matter."

I frowned. "Why us? We're not the largest fighting force Skyrim has."

"Doubting yourself? I can see a long and promising future for the pair of us," commented Jarl Ulfric.

As I whipped around to angrily retort, I heard Kodlak snap sharply, "Aela, control your temper! Jarl of Eastmarch, she is right to question why only a small group of the Companions is going to face the Forsworn. It is unusual that we have been called for such a matter."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to control the waves of fury that coursed through me. Jarl Ulfric looked smug at having provoked a reaction from me. _Divines help me, he's more frustrating than Skjor and Derrick mixed together!_

"Why we've called you here, Huntress," said Jarl Igvund, "is because your skills at tracking will be most invaluable to the matter. The Forsworn are soon to attack Karthwasten; the residents there have been reporting movements of Forsworn have been growing clearer around their lightly-defended town."

"Why not already?" I asked.

"Because we suspect that there is even greater movement behind the Forsworn," replied Jarl Igvund. "We believe that they are preparing themselves to lead the greatest assault on the Reach yet. But we do not know who the leaders of these new Forsworn movements are."

I sighed. "And you want the Companions to discover what the Forsworn are planning?"

"Mainly," responded Jarl Ulfric. "But most of the Companions aren't...exactly _stealthy_, shall we say. And that's where you come in. Your task in the Reach is to find the Forsworn leaders, discover their plans, and if possible, execute them. This will put the Forsworn into disarray and that is when we strike."

I struggled to keep my surprise at the task under control. So I said, "Is that all?"

Ulfric frowned. "Rather confident, aren't you?"

"I never fail."

"We shall see." Abruptly Ulfric looked up and said, "I need at least half a dozen of the Companions to head to the Reach, if you include...this Huntress here. They need to garrison Karthwasten at once."

"Harbinger, who can you spare?" asked Jarl Igvund.

Kodlak frowned thoughtfully. "Six Companions is a large number. But I do believe that we have enough to spare for Karthwasten and the Reach."

"What about that boy, the one who went to Markarth three years ago and killed a Briarheart?" Jarl Ulfric asked sharply.

"You mean Skjor?" I asked.

"If you want him to be sent to the Reach also, then he will go," Kodlak assured Ulfric. "He has more experience with the Forsworn firsthand than most of our new bloods. I'll also garrison Karthwasten with another member of our Circle, and three more."

I glanced towards my Harbinger. "Who do you intend to send, Kodlak?"

"Myllasa and Orgmund, I think, and Aileen and Derrick."

I stopped in surprise. "Harbinger, with all due respect, do you think it's wise to send Aileen and Derrick back to—"

"Back to the Reach?" Jarl Ulfric's eyes narrowed further. "Are you telling me that they came from there?"

Kodlak looked levelly at Ulfric and responded, "They themselves are Bretons, and most of their family are now scattered in the hills as Forsworn."

"You certainly are forthright about them," growled Ulfric. "But I won't have any half-loyalties garrisoned at Karthwasten. Don't you have any others?"

I felt anger surge through me, and before I could stop myself, I had turned to face Ulfric again, and I snapped, "You won't _have_ any half-loyalties! Aileen and Derrick are loyal to Jorrvaskr and to their Shield-Siblings, not to the Reachmen!"

"Aela!" Kodlak commanded. "Control yourself!"

Reluctantly I subsided.

"I can certainly understand why you're cautious towards the Breton Companions," said Kodlak firmly, turning back to Jarl Ulfric. "But I'm sending them because they have great knowledge about the Reach and its inhabitants which will be very useful for us to know. They are loyal to Skyrim, trust me."

"Loyal enough to put a sword through their own kin?" said Ulfric darkly.

"Yes." Kodlak sounded absolutely certain. "You focus yourself too heavily on heritage and backgrounds, Jarl. It is time to focus on the present, and the matter at hand. Aileen and Derrick will travel to the Reach along with my other chosen Companions, and we will not fail you."

I could still see that Ulfric Stormcloak looked uncertain. He folded his burly arms firmly over his chest, but said nothing.

"If the threat's so damned serious, why doesn't the Empire lend a hand? Isn't that their job?" I asked, scowling. "Instead of throwing all responsibility onto the Companions and the guardsmen of Markarth?"

A strange look came into Jarl Ulfric's eyes. "The Empire won't help because they don't want to risk so much bloodshed and death amidst their own Legion," he said, almost bitterly. "They got more than their fair share of that in the Great War."

Rage suddenly flared in the Jarl's eyes. "Cowards! Even when they left me as a prisoner of war, I served Skyrim, my home. When I returned, to discover that Markarth was under the control of the Reachmen, I took guards from Windhelm and drove them out, drove them back. And what did I get for my trouble? What did _any_ of my militia get for their troubles? Cells in the Imperial Prison!"

His eyes narrowed. "No, girl. The Empire's changed, and they changed the moment they signed the bloody Concordat. As far as I'm concerned, we're on our own."

* * *

On the final evening of Last Seed I sat at the table in Jorrvaskr beside Eiwen and watched as Kodlak rose from his seat of honour at the table. Silence descended very suddenly.

"My brothers and sisters," said Kodlak, solemnly. "You are all aware by now of the task which lies ahead for six of our Companions."

Glances were exchanged to me, Skjor, Orgmund, Myllasa, and the Breton siblings.

"They leave at daybreak tomorrow morn," Kodlak continued. "And we wish them well in their journey and task in liberating the Reach from the Forsworn once more.

"To turn to a happier note, I congratulate Eiwen and Samiith in successfully recovering a stolen family heirloom for the people of Dawnstar."

Beside me, Eiwen gave a small, embarrassed sort of smile. Samiith, from his place directly left of Kodlak, half-closed his reptilian eyes in pleasure of the Harbinger's praise. And all around, we lifted our flagons and roared as one, "To success!" After we had drunk deeply, Kodlak bade our hearts' fires continue to burn well, and sat, and we helped ourselves to the rich offerings and ate.

But I found I had little appetite tonight. I picked at a bit of this and a bit of that, until Eiwen turned to me, and perhaps noticing my unease, the Bosmer said quietly, "You must be nervous."

"No...I'm not nervous. Just...apprehensive."

"I'd be nervous," Eiwen continued. "The whole mission seems to rest on your shoulders, Aela. If you fail, it will fail. You'd be daft not to feel nervous."

I sighed. "I've got it, don't worry about me," I muttered.

Eiwen lowered her flagon and looked very seriously at me.

"Aela," said the Bosmer quietly, "I've been with the Companions for nearly seven years. I've faced all kinds of dangers across Skyrim and you have as well, I know. I've faced the Forsworn before myself. Some of them are little better than the standard thugs and bandits you find on the roads and in old caves, scraping on a living. But some of them really can be dangerous. They're all driven by rage towards the Nords and hatred that so many of their race were slaughtered for a seemingly-pointless reason. Revenge fuels their hearts' flames. It would be wise to tread carefully when you enter the Reach."

I glared at Eiwen. "Thanks for the really encouraging words," I snapped.

Eiwen looked apologetic. "Of course. I'm sorry; I'm not really helping, am I? But you'll find that most of them blindly follow. Their revenge leaves them little room for independence, except for a few, who are their leaders. Exterminate the leaders, and the Forsworn will scatter."

I sighed. "Isn't that the whole point of my mission?"

"Obviously. But finding them will be difficult; they hide in high places, with those filthy what-do-you-call-thems, Hagravens, within. They made a pact with them long ago." Eiwen sighed and leaned back a little in her chair. "A trick that I was taught in my time in Valenwood was this; the places where enemies look little are the places where you will be safest. Hide in places farther, and you are in danger. Hide in places closer, and they will not discover you until the time is too late for turning back."

I paused, slowly taking in Eiwen's advice. I turned to the Bosmer in frustration and remarked, "Another Bosmeri riddle, I'm guessing. Will you care to tell me what it means?"

"Basically, I'm telling you to hide in places where the enemy does not _expect_ you," said Eiwen, her gold Elf eyes glittering with earnestness. "The farther away you are from them, the more you could be in danger. The closer that you are to them, the more successful you may be in your intentions."

I frowned thoughtfully. "And my intention is to eradicate the Forsworn leaders. But what if they're Briarhearts? I don't think I'd be able to take one down in swordplay." Glancing over towards where Skjor sat, speaking quietly with Orgmund, I added, "And I've never even faced a Briarheart before."

"Nor have I, but they'll be exactly the same as any mortal being," said Eiwen, with a shrug. "Head, heart, throat or gut, they'll be felled with a well-placed arrow."

After another moment's silence, Eiwen said, "I heard you met Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."

I nodded, confirming her reply.

"How was he?"

"A bastard." I took a sip of mead.

Eiwen softly laughed. "I can imagine so. I overheard you telling Skjor exactly how critical he was being to Aileen and Derrick."

"Some of these Nords are stupid as donkeys," I said slightly irritably. "Most are just critical of everything they see is different. Me, twenty-two, a huntress, a Companion. Elves, for being Elves. Bretons for having connections to the Reach and the indigenous there." I scowled. "Like anyone cares. It's the Great War that's put doubt in everyone's minds. But it ended years and years ago."

Eiwen nodded ruefully. "Tell me about it. Part of the reasons why I left Valenwood was because of the ever-increasing presence of the Aldmeri Dominion there." She sighed. "It's going to take a hell of a long time before anyone begins to forget the horrors of the Great War."

"Too long, I fear," I murmured in agreement. My gaze drifted to those gathered at the table. To Skjor, who had been permanently crippled as a result of the Great War. I thought of the noble Rorik, who had nearly died, and of Jarl Ulfric, who had suffered because of the Dominion. Even though I didn't like the man, I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. He had been sent to prison twice because of the Aldmeri Dominion; no wonder he held such a bitter grudge against the Elves.

A hairy snout suddenly appeared at my arm, going for a piece of baked venison resting absently and unattended at the edge of my plate. A moment later it had disappeared beneath the table, and I felt a furry body brush past my leg as the thief made his escape. Eiwen looked at me with concern. "You just let Fang steal your food without complaint; a thing that has never happened from you before. You are nervous, and don't bother trying to deny it."

"You can imagine why I'm nervous." I let out a soft, troubled sigh. "The mission's success rests on my shoulders. I've only got my skills of hunting, a bow, and four years' worth of experience with Companions to help me. I don't know how I'm going to cope if I fail...and lead the others to what could be their deaths."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, probably not the world's greatest chapter, and I had a lot of writer's block with this one as well, but hopefully it should be smoother running from here on.**

**I will do my best uploading chapter twenty before I go offline for a few days; probably won't get back to you guys until Sunday or Monday (New Zealand time). Please review on what you thought on the chapter, and if there are any improvements to it you want me to make to it, just drop a line. Everything that I get means so much for me :)  
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	21. Chapter 20 - Return Home

Chapter Twenty

"You have got to be joking."

Skjor flashed me a grin at my toneless statement, as he led forward the broad-shouldered stallion on which I was to be riding. Stormy grey with dark ripples across his body, and with fiery earth-brown eyes, the horse tossed back his head restlessly and stomped on the ground with one heavy hoof.

"I've never even ridden a horse before," I protested.

"So you learn." Skjor softly laughed as he handed me the reins. "Go on. It's not that difficult."

"Says someone who doesn't know how to shoot a bow and arrow," I retorted irritably, as the horse swung his head around and nudged my chest with a velvety muzzle. Awkwardly I patted him, and heard Skjor chortle.

"You happy riding old Stormy?" he inquired. "Or...would you prefer a...more agreeable mount?"

I narrowed my eyes at Skjor. He grinned widely at my obvious irritation. "No. I'll stay with this horse," I snapped. "Go and get your...tamer mount."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'docile'," said Skjor, as he strode calmly away from the horse he had called Stormy, and towards the stables, where his own black horse was waiting.

I looked uncertainly at the horse I was due to ride. This would be a good point to say here and now that I had never ridden a horse before in my life. I hadn't even touched one before. But we had to reach Markarth as quickly as possible so it was the only way. Slightly unsure on how to get on the saddle, I half-glanced towards where Aileen and Derrick had already mounted and were walking their horses out from the stables and towards the cobblestone. As Derrick passed me on his russet-coloured mount, with Aileen on a palomino I recognized well even after six years, the Breton turned and flashed me a very smug smile, obviously saying wordlessly to me, _Good luck._

They were pulling my leg. I glared at the horse, Stormy, as though he had committed a personal grudge against me. Then, finding somewhere to hold onto on the saddle, I gripped the saddle horns tightly, and then pulled.

My first attempt ended up with Stormy suddenly taking a few steps to the right, me slipping, and nearly losing my footing as I steadied myself. Stormy let out an indignant whinny which, to my embarrassment, carried so it attracted the attention of all those who were standing around nearby.

"You all right there, Huntress?" I heard Derrick call clearly. "Need a hand?"

"I'm fine," I responded, turning darkly back to the horse. Stormy snorted restlessly, pawing the ground with a hoof. _Oh, so you want to mess with me, do you?_ Quickly, I grabbed the saddle again, seized the horns with one hand and put my other hand on his flank, and leapt.

I sort of got up. At least he stayed still this time; but I hadn't put enough force into my jump. Not wishing to have a third attempt, I threw myself forward, and ended up slumped right over the saddle rather stupidly. Gritting my teeth with the effort, I grabbed the reins stiffly with one hand, and awkwardly maneuvered myself until one leg was on one side of the horse, and I could push myself up into a sitting position.

Derrick was sniggering nearby. He had obviously been watching my less-than-graceful mounting. Stormy suddenly jerked back his head as I fumbled for the reins, and took a few sharp steps backwards, making me wobble dangerously in the saddle.

"Stay still, you rotten hide of hair!" I snapped frustratedly, grabbing the reins at last. But Stormy simply jerked back his head and let out an irritated snort, and trotted forward at a slightly alarming pace that made me grab the reins and hold on like hell. I yanked back the reins, bringing Stormy's head around to the right, and the horse quickly spun around, nearly making me lose my seating entirely.

"Gods—damn you—stay—still!" I managed to gasp out, as I finally got a firmer grip on the reins and pulled back as hard as I could. Stormy jerked back his head indignantly, but reluctantly stopped in his wild, uncertain movements.

"Good riding." I looked to my left, completely ruffled, to see Skjor sitting completely at ease on the back of a relaxed browny-black horse which was obviously his own. The Companion was grinning at me. "Not bad for an amateur."

For some odd reason, I felt anger sear through me. Nobody called me an amateur at anything! Before I could irritably respond, I heard a rumble of hooves clatter behind me and half-turned to suddenly see Orgmund race around the corner atop the back of a frisky young chestnut colt. With a shrill whinny Stormy leapt back, half-rising onto his hind hooves in his surprise and nearly throwing me out, and Orgmund clumsily rode past, trying to get a handle on the colt.

"Stay, you blasphemous little bugger-it-all!" Orgmund growled, as he heaved his weight back and brought the colt skidding to a clumsy halt. Indignantly the horse whinnied, jerking its head against Orgmund's reins. Skjor laughed, shaking his head.

"That's not the way to win Brumby's affection," he warned Orgmund.

Orgmund turned and glared at Skjor. "Do you have names for all the bloody horses?" he growled. "They're not even our own!"

"Figured it's be good for them to have their little nicknames," replied Skjor.

Myllasa appeared, riding on her dusky brown horse with almost perfect ease. "So what's this one's name, mister horse-master?" she asked.

Skjor nodded towards her mount and replied, "Dune. Figured you'd like her."

"You mean, like sand dunes?" Myllasa looked considerably more pleased as she looked at the horse, and I could only guess that the horse, Dune, reminded her clearly of the deserts of Hammerfell.

"Orgmund's got young Brumby," Skjor added. Turning to the Breton siblings, he added, "Aileen, that's Lavender you're riding—very sweet thing, I might add, so says the stablemaster—and Derrick, you're on Fox."

The russet chestnut Derrick had been given to ride tossed his head sharply at the mention of his name. Derrick looked at his horse, seemed to find the name to his standards, and patted his mount's neck.

"You've got Stormy," Skjor told me. "And I've got Eve." He patted his horse with obvious fondness. "And mind you take good care of your horses. They're not ours. If they die, you'll have to pay for them anyway, so try not to get your horses killed."

He gave his black horse a nudge with his heels and the black mare trotted obligingly forward. "Now, all of you, stay together, and don't let anyone fall behind," he announced. "Particularly not...our master rider back there."

Derrick chuckled. I glanced irritably at Skjor. "We'll see who's the master rider in the end," I said to him warningly, gripping the reins. Turning to my Companions, I added, "And don't forget who this mission rests upon. You want to come back to Whiterun alive, you'd best listen to what I say."

"Whatever," shrugged Derrick. "Let's just get going."

It wasn't actually pretty bad once we did eventually get going. More often than not, Stormy deliberately was difficult, but we managed to canter nonstop for about three minutes before he halted himself and refused to budge for about five minutes. I never had been one for horse riding and I don't think I cared too much for it; to me, horses - at least, this damned creature - were nothing but clumsy.

But the day's travel passed by pretty swiftly, and though I was aching from having spent so long in the saddle, and desperate to stretch my legs, we made it to the other end of the Hold by nightfall. Following the road, we rounded a bend...and I remembered, in a flash, where we were, and I slowed Stormy down as I realized, just up that road, was my old home.

Rorikstead.

"Shit," I breathed, so softly that only Skjor, who rode beside me, could hear me. He flashed me an anxious glance.

"You okay?"

I straightened up stiffly in the saddle. "Yeah. Fine." My arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets as suddenly Stormy bent his head down, and almost angrily I jerked his head up again and spurred him forward into a fast walk.

"Rorikstead," commented Orgmund from behind me. "Say, Aela, wasn't that your old home?"

I nodded, turning to frown at him for a moment. "It once was my home," I admitted.

"What happened?" asked Myllasa quietly, from near the back, where she rode alongside the Breton twins and Fang. "What made you leave?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said shortly. Why did the road to Karthwasten have to lead through Rorikstead? I didn't feel as if I was ready to face those I once called neighbours. Even friends. And my mother. What had become of her?

I wanted nothing more than to keep riding through the night. But it was too late and nearly too dark to see anything. And we were all tired out from our day of riding, particularly me, awkwardly steering Stormy over the roads and occasionally experiencing what cross-country felt like. I knew that they would recognize me. The three marks of the hunter, of the evergreen warpaint, were still slashed across my face. A dead giveaway. Plus my Ancient Nord armour, a little battered now, but nonetheless in excellent condition.

We neared the town, and I began to realize...there were changes. Subtle changes, but changes nonetheless. The fields were smaller, but nonetheless as bountiful as before. There were fewer guards. The streets...they seemed emptier. Or was it because I, at last, had grown up? And now I looked upon Rorikstead as a stranger would?

"I hope there's an inn here," grumbled Orgmund, "and the innkeeper has some good mead."

"There is," I said, almost irritably. "The Frostfruit Inn, a bit up the road." Vaguely I wondered how business had been for Mralki in the past years. Had there been enough travellers to keep the inn running? And then my eyes, out of habit, sought out my mother's cottage, and my heart sank.

The garden, the vegetable garden which once had been Father's pride and joy and talent, was completely forlorn and abandoned. Nothing more than a hotspot for weeds now. And the cottage's walls were overgrown in ivy. The stonework was beginning to crumble, the roof roughly thatched, as though the inhabitant of the house didn't have enough time, energy, or dedication to properly weave the roof anymore.

My house had died. My old home had died.

I realized that I had stopped Stormy without realizing it, and was simply staring at the cottage. Beside me, Skjor had also reined Eve to a halt, and was watching me carefully. The others rode on past.

"This was your old home, wasn't it?" he asked. "The house where you grew up."

I nodded jerkily.

"A shame about your vegetable garden," Skjor continued, glancing towards the mass of weeds. "That was where we first met. We were riding horses past the garden. You were digging up carrots."

I spun around and glared at Skjor. "You're not helping!" I snapped.

Skjor was motionless, his face devoid of emotion. For my sake? Or was he stunned? I couldn't be sure. Abruptly I twisted and leapt down off Stormy. My legs buckled under the sudden expectation of trying to hold my body up, after hours on horseback, and I stumbled a little, but I straightened up at once and shook feeling back into my legs. "Take the horse up to the inn," I said shortly to Skjor. "I'll be along shortly."

Skjor didn't ask why. He just nodded, leaned over and grabbed Stormy's reins, and then turned Eve and led both horses up towards where the others had already located the inn, had dismounted, and were now stretching their stiffened limbs. I waited until Skjor had rejoined the others. And then I turned and cleared the low fence, landing knee-deep in unchecked grass and weeds, and half-waded towards the front door of the cottage.

My hand went towards the handle. And then I hesitated, and drew it back. A hot feeling of shame swept over me. Was my mother even still here? Would she be willing to see her daughter, the child who ran away to fulfill her own ambitions instead of remaining behind where she was needed most? I sighed softly. Perhaps it would be best for my mother not to know that I was here.

"Aela? Is that you?"

I stiffened as I heard the familiar voice. I turned quickly. "Jouane?"

It was him. The town wizard who once had saved my life. He didn't look a day older than I last remembered him, though his clothes looked more tattered than before, and his eyes. They were older, paler, though they still flashed with the same sharp alertness and intelligence. He stood by the fence, his arms resting near her sides, his eyes wide with pleasure and surprise.

"It's so good to see you," he said quietly, as our gazes met. "How long has it been?"

"Four years." The number caught in my throat. I slowly walked back towards Jouane and said, "What's been happening to the town? It's...shrinking, almost."

Jouane nodded. "The ground's been growing less fertile around the edges of Rorikstead, and animals have been invading this place more often, trampling the barley and corn and the crops. So we've had to adapt."

Shame swept through me. "They're coming because they're no longer afraid," I said.

Jouane looked at me carefully, and then said, "Why did you leave, Aela?"

I hesitated. What was I to say? "I...I couldn't stay."

"Why couldn't you?" Jouane didn't sound angry or demanding. He sounded merely curious, and even a touch sympathetic.

"I..." my voice faltered, and angrily I drew it up again. "I had to leave, Jouane. I couldn't stay here, not in Rorikstead. I felt...I felt trapped."

Jouane looked at me, perhaps measuring my words, before he said, "You felt trapped? But the Whiterun Hold was all open to you. You hunted here every day. What made you feel trapped?"

"The work," I admitted, a little shamefully. "I hated the work I had to do, when I wasn't hunting. Working in the fields, I felt...frustrated. Trapped."

"You felt as if working in the fields wasn't where you rightly belonged," Jouane guessed.

I nodded. "Yes. Exactly that. But I didn't want to complain. I didn't want to say anything. So I let my resentment grow inside me. I mean, I couldn't just tell my mother how much I disliked working in the fields. My brothers were...were being difficult. Troublesome. And she was very stressed when Father died."

Jouane was quiet and listening. "So you felt resentful that you were working in Rorikstead as a farmhand than doing what you did best, and for the best."

I shook my head wearily. "I used to be all right with harvests," I said. "But each year, it was more difficult for me to give up hunting for a few days to bring in crops. Until I couldn't stand the very thought of it. I didn't want to work in the fields. And yet I didn't want to tell my mother."

Jouane suddenly looked at me very severely. "Was that why you suddenly disappeared, in the dead of night? Do you even realize of the strife you caused your mother?"

I was taken aback. The words, spoken aloud, lashed at my heart sharper than any sword.

"We all thought you had died," Jouane continued. "We sent guards to search the plains. There was no sign of you. We can't read tracks as well as you can."

"You didn't need to search for me," I snapped, letting my own shame channel into my voice as anger. "I didn't need to be found. I ran away because I knew that I would be no help in the harvest."

"You ran because your passion for hunting overruled the simple needs of your damaged family," Jouane corrected savagely. He waved an arm towards the garden. "Look at the state of your family's home. Look at what happened when you left."

"I wasn't going to be a farmer my whole life!" I said angrily. "I was old enough to leave home."

"But you didn't know the right time to," growled Jouane. "Do you even know what happened after you ran away?"

"You had a successful harvest, as you do every year," I predicted.

"Wrong. Your family's harvest was the poorest I had ever seen." Jouane leaned forward. "They barely had enough to survive the winter. As a result, they didn't have many seeds to sow when spring came. They had to borrow from the stores around Rorikstead to even be able to plant a decent crop."

"The harvest should...it should have been better!" I fumed, my guilt settling into my stomach like a lead stone. "What did Ulfgar and Lokir do? Did they even help?"

"Oh, they helped, but they let their resentment at helping show through, at least," Jouane snarled. "We all knew that they were going to leave Rorikstead the moment the chance came their way. But your mother's worry for you kept her distracted, and she could barely concentrate on the harvest, and without your help, most of it wasn't brought in before the sudden change of weather caused the crops to turn sour. To top off their misfortune, they had no meat to bolster their meals."

Now my guilt broke through. The feeling swept over me, stronger than the shame. I had deserted my family when they did need me most. What sort of person did that make me?

"The summer coming, your brothers left," Jouane continued. "Most of Rorikstead was glad to see them go. They were nuisances, troublemakers, complainers and thieves. They caused even more trouble that year, smashing a whole shelf of Mralki's ale, ah, 'accidentally', and your family didn't have the money to pay for the damages."

I looked back at the house. "How did they pay off the debt?" I asked quietly.

"How do you think?" Jouane said scathingly. His voice, I realized, was slightly touched with grief. "Your mother worked harder than ever. The brothers were forced into extra labour which definitely made them more mutinous towards their mother, even though they knew it was their fault. The cost was worth hundreds of septims. In the end, your mother had to start selling her possessions."

"Shit." I bit my lip. We didn't have much possessions to sell. Never had, and we never would. "What did she sell off?"

"Blankets from her bed. Jewelry. Clothes. Heirlooms." Jouane's voice was grim. "And still that wouldn't cover the costs. And then she fell sick."

_Oh, Gods..._ "When?" was all I asked.

"Early last year," said Jouane quietly. "She contracted Bone Break Fever. Didn't even have the strength to leave her bed. She...wasn't strong enough. I did all I could, but..." his voice drifted off.

"No," I whispered in horror. My mother, dead? She was _dead?_

Jouane nodded slowly. "She died in her bed in the night. I had only closed my eyes for the briefest of moments. It had flared up and overwhelmed her when she rested, when for just a few minutes I couldn't tend to her. But she must have suffered nothing."

As if that was any consolidation to me. The guilt was so terrible that it was burning my entire body. Only one thought seared through my mind; _what had I done?_

"This is all my fault," I said, my voice hollow with shock, with loss, with a million other emotions I didn't even want to try and comprehend. Jouane said nothing. His face was expressionless.

"Do...do Lokir and Ulfgar know?" My tongue curled as I said the names of my brothers, who seemed to repulse me as much as I was repulsed with myself.

"I shouldn't think so," said Jouane coldly. "The two bastards made a runner in the night, disappearing from Rorikstead. Rather like you, I believe."

Numbly, I sat down. Amongst the weeds. I don't think I had the strength to continue standing. My mother was dead...

"Where they are, I don't know, nor do I care," Jouane went on. "But we haven't heard from them at all since they left. Not even one letter to their dear mother, who now lies in a grave beside her dead husband. She must be so _proud_ of her children..."

His voice was scathing again, and before I knew it, before I could even hope to conjure anger to retort to Jouane...tears were falling hot and wet down my face, over the slashes of evergreen warpaint that suddenly felt like brands of guilt. I let the tears fall, finally succumbing to my shame of fleeing Rorikstead, my guilt of abandoning my mother, my anger that my brothers had disappeared, that my mother was dead. She was dead. And she was never coming back.

I didn't look up as I heard footsteps crunch over the grass. Jouane sat down beside me, and he murmured, "Promise me, girl, that you will never hide anything from anyone again."

Through eyes blurred with salty tears, I looked up at Jouane, at the kindly wizard who once had saved my life and nursed me back to health. There was earnestness glittering in his eyes, and slowly I nodded.

"Who were those strangers who rode alongside you?" asked Jouane quietly.

"My...my new family," I said shakily. "I...went and joined the Companions..."

Jouane's gaze, if I wasn't mistaken, brightened considerably.

"Then perhaps your mother may forgive you, in Sovngarde," he said.

"Why? I don't deserve her forgiveness." My voice was bitter.

"You went and joined an honourable cause," Jouane said. "You decided to devote your life to helping others, instead of leading a life of simply fulfilling your own private ambitions. So perhaps it isn't so bad that you left Rorikstead." He smiled. "I never believed you to have stayed put in Rorikstead anyway, Aela. I could see the unspeakable longing in your eyes whenever you let your gaze wander to the horizons."

"You could?"

"Oh, definitely. And you went and hunted for hours on end, trying to stay as long as you could away from Rorikstead, after your hunting mentor left," Jouane nodded. "It was only a matter of time before you would leave Rorikstead to find your fortune. But you should not have gone then. You should have stayed, and helped your mother, until she was strong enough to survive on her own—and you should have been there to keep an eye on your brothers."

"I...I know now." A sob rocked my shoulders, but I kept it down, forcing the tears to come out silently. It would do no good to wail my grief and my burning shame aloud.

Jouane paused for a moment, before saying, "And know for the future, Aela. Do not desert those who need you, and particularly do not vanish, especially when they need you. Does that mean you should be returning to your Companions now?"

I hesitated, and then rose to my feet, Jouane beside me. "Yes...of course. We need to leave early tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"The Reach. We're meeting Jarl Ulfric at Karthwasten."

Jouane frowned. "Ulfric Stormcloak, you mean? What do you want with him? What does he want with you?"

"There's trouble in the Reach. The Forsworn are on the move again; they plan to take back the Reach, reclaim Markarth and kill those at Karthwasten."

"And the Companions are going to help defend the Reach?"

I grimaced. "Yeah. Well, the other five are. Me, I...I have to find and kill their leaders."

Jouane didn't say anything for a moment. Then, he simply said, "I wish you luck in that, Aela."

"I don't need luck. I have my skill."

"When you face hordes of Forsworn alone, you need all the luck you can get." Jouane looked serious at this. "Take care, Aela the Huntress. I shall probably not see you in the morning, so I say farewell to you now. Protect the Reach and its people, Companion."

"Thanks." I wasn't sure what else to say. It felt as if another dear friend was leaving me too soon as I watched Jouane step over the broken, battered fence and walk up towards his cottage. The same pain of watching Panjor leave me filled my heart. Jouane had been a good friend to me. Was I ever going to see him again? Would he disappear from my life as my brothers and my mother had done to me? Once again, I would be alone, wouldn't I?

Wouldn't I...

I'd never be alone, I realized. The people of Whiterun were my new townspeople. They looked up to me and respected me with the same kind of respect that I had received when I was once a citizen of Rorikstead. The people in Jorrvaskr were my new brothers and sisters. They always would be. Farkas and Vilkas looked up to me as a teacher and mentor, even if neither were as passionate about hunting as I was. The Harbinger, Kodlak, had been so much like a father to me. He was like a father to everyone in Jorrvaskr.

And where would I be, if they all left my life, one by one?

Alone.

But I am a huntress; a solitary she-wolf with a feisty spirit, or so my mother had once called me. I was always going to be her she-wolf. But I am the huntress of the Companions. The huntress of Jorrvaskr, of Whiterun. Of Skyrim. I am Aela.

Looking up at the sky, I found myself murmuring a prayer, a prayer for my mother's forever safety in the starlit fields of Sovngarde.

"May the Divines look over you as you walk in the land of paradise, Mother," I whispered. "May you never know heartbreak, pain or suffering again. May you always be happy. I will make you proud of me, Mother. And...and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you when you needed me most."

The breeze tugged my voice away. But I hoped that she had heard.

Quietly I turned, and left my abandoned cottage, and headed up the road towards the Frostfruit Inn. I would never abandon those in my need again. And right now, my Companions needed me, partially to make sure they wouldn't drink themselves to the points of hangovers in the morning.

* * *

**A/N: To be honest, I had no idea this chapter would turn out the way it did. But I think that it turned out much better than it would have otherwise.  
**

**Anyway, folks, I'll have to call a halt to chapter-writing here for a few days, so please review on how much or how little you've enjoyed my story this far, please take the time to tell me if you think Orgmund should be a good or evil Companion, and take the liberty of suggesting any random thought that comes into your head concerning Aela that you'd like to read in my fanfiction later on. If you really like my story, I'd appreciate it more than can be put into words if you could mention my story to friends-would mean the world to me if I could mass over 1000 views, and am very close to achieving this goal, with 993 to count at the time I've written this note. Be back next week with chapter twenty-one!  
**


	22. Chapter 21 - Defense of the Reach Part 1

Chapter Twenty-One

"You took your damned sweet time," said Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak irritably.

I rolled my eyes as I yanked Stormy to a halt, and hearing the crunch of hooves behind me, informed me that the rest of my Companions were doing the same. "You don't seem to have any trouble holding the barricade in the meantime, Jarl," I replied coolly, as I looked around at the ten to fifteen Eastmarch guards strutting around Karthwasten.

"You think?" Jarl Ulfric raised one eyebrow skeptically at me. "I've lost three men already to the damned Forsworn. I'm not planning on losing anymore. You had all better be good."

"We're the best," Skjor assured Ulfric, as he dismounted from his black mare Eve and strode up to meet the Jarl of Eastmarch for the first time.

Jarl Ulfric narrowed his eyes. "You're the one who killed the Briarheart, yes?"

"One and only." I glanced at Skjor as he responded, wondering vaguely if he was going to try and irritate Ulfric as he so often irritated me. Skjor crossed his arms over his wolf armour (so he called it, as it was primarily made out of wolf fur) and said boldly to the Jarl, "And the rest of us – Myllasa, Orgmund, and Aileen and Derrick – and don't forget our warhound, Fang, are at your disposal."

Each Companion dismounted and nodded in confirmation as their name was called out. Fang trotted to Aileen's side the moment her feet touched the rough stony ground.

"Ah, yes...the Bretons." Jarl Ulfric, frowning, turned to Aileen and Derrick, who promptly presented themselves, but looked at Ulfric Stormcloak with some level of caution and/or hostility. "Your Harbinger informs me that you are truly loyal to the Companions. Not to your kinsmen who are currently roaming as savages in the Reach."

I stiffened in anger. I wasn't the only one. Fang growled warningly, and Derrick looked as if he was about to slog Ulfric in the face. Aileen kept her temper, though her voice was brittle. "We've been with the Companions for many years, and we intend to stay with the Companions for many more years yet," she said coldly. "We left the Reach because that was not our home."

"You thought your home lay in refuge with the Nords?" Jarl Ulfric raised the corner of one eyebrow slightly, and angrily I started forward, until I felt Skjor lay his hand over my shoulder. When I turned to look him in the face, I saw him shake his head slightly.

"Whiterun has been our home since we first went there," said Aileen. She folded her arms over her chest and added, "Now that we've got the racist shit out of the way, care to tell us our positions?"

For a moment, Ulfric looked surprised, and then his face hardened.

"All of you have been assigned to stay here at Karthwasten, and I take most of my guardsmen and garrison Markarth," he said. "So you'd all better stay."

"Who's in charge, if you're not around?" Orgmund demanded irritably.

Jarl Ulfric turned and regarded the large, burly Nord with hostility in return. "You speak to my lieutenant, Galmar. He'll be staying behind to make sure you Companions know what you're doing."

"You think we're just common mercenaries, do you?" Myllasa's voice was cold.

"And yet you're relying on me to get the job done, and to prevent the damned Forsworn from executing the lot of you," I added, with a touch of relish.

"If it were up to me, I would much prefer marching on the Forsworn first-hand and proper, the way true Nords would handle a situation," Ulfric Stormcloak growled. I felt anger sear through me, and was strongly reminded of Derrick. "But we don't know the location. So we have to send in a huntress to get the damned job done, and so we can drive out those Breton bastards."

Skjor narrowed both eyes. "So be careful how you treat us, Stormcloak. Or you'll find that I'll get very angry."

Ulfric looked at Skjor with contempt. "And what happens when you get angry?"

Skjor flexed his fingers. "Let's just say, bad things happen."

I felt a shudder suddenly pass through me as I looked at my friend. I had a feeling that he earnestly meant those words, but for some reason, I wasn't sure.

"It's fortunate that we can channel our anger into the Forsworn," Orgmund growled, walking over and placing a firm hand on Skjor's shoulder. "And now you need to give our little Huntress her instructions, so we can get this over with."

"Who's this Galmar we need to talk to?" Myllasa inquired.

Jarl Ulfric nodded brusquely over towards where a man, dressed in the skin of a dark grey bear, and wearing a corset of chainmail, was speaking to a few of the Eastmarch guardsmen. "There's your man. Get your orders and stay put. I daresay the Forsworn will be marching on Karthwasten tonight. You – Huntress – come with me."

"The name's Aela," I said irritably to him, as I handed Stormy's reins to Skjor and strode after the Jarl of Eastmarch. We headed back down the slope towards the road. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the rest of the Companions take the reins of their horses and lead them further into Karthwasten, having to go single-file to get past the wooden barricades.

"As far as I'm concerned, I don't give one damn about your name, but what you do to eliminate this new Forsworn uprising," Ulfric Stormcloak said.

We walked back down to the deserted road. I looked around the Reach as I did so, wondering vaguely why the Bretons were putting up such a big fight over it. All I saw were vast stone walls, covered in scrubby moss and grass, twisted trees outlined faintly in the mist that always seemed to hover around this place. The rivers were musty and dark and pretty devoid of life. The air was always cold and moist here, and there didn't seem to be many animals here, either. Except for goats. There was a very large amount of lean, hardened mountain goats always running along the roads and scrambling up and down the stony ledges. And often, we heard the lonely, echoing call of wolves hunting as we progressed through the grim and stony highlands.

"The last attack we defended ourselves against was a group of cowardly Forsworn who headed back the way they came, but we quickly lost them in this bloody fog," Ulfric Stormcloak began. He gestured down towards the ground, towards a clump of dead lavender, and added, "However, they're not the most inconspicuous folk, as you may have noticed by now."

I crouched down. Brushing a pebble aside, I could make out the faintest outline of a footprint.

"They passed by here two to three days ago," I said, determining by touch how old the track was. "And they were heading further down the road, towards Markarth."

"So now you know where to go," said Jarl Ulfric. "And you know your orders. Get in, kill them, get out, and report to us the location."

I straightened, turning back to the Jarl. "So, that's it?" I said coolly. "No, 'Oh, gee, thanks for helping us out'? Not even a 'Good luck'?"

"What's the point?" Ulfric Stormcloak's eyes shadowed. "I got neither gratitude nor luck whenever I decided to help out the Empire. Doing their bloody dirty work, fighting for them, bleeding for them, suffering months of torture for them..." He fell silent, as if he had spoken too much.

I frowned. "Torture?"

"It's none of your concern," scowled Ulfric Stormcloak. "What should be concerning you right now is getting yourself further along the road to Markarth and finding the damned Forsworn."

I narrowed my eyes. "I think I deserve to know the right why you're so bloody rude to everyone."

Ulfric snorted. "Impertinent, aren't you? I'll say this much; there's no luck where you're going. From what I've heard from my scouts, there are about three to four Briarhearts acting as leaders. As well as a swarming mass of Forsworn. But you make it out alive, I'll grant you decent amount of respect. I can promise that much. And then we can get out of this Gods-forsaken landscape."

I frowned. "You seem pretty eager to get out of here."

"Why aren't I?" Jarl Ulfric scowled darkly. "The last time I defeated the Forsworn here, the thanks I received from the High King was a cell in the Imperial Prison. I don't intend on returning to jail. And nor do any of my men."

"If this place holds such bad memories for you, why do you even return?" I asked skeptically.

"Because when Skyrim bleeds, I'm there to staunch the wound," Jarl Ulfric responded. "Skyrim belongs to the Nords and only the Nords. I'm willing to fight anything and anyone to make sure of that."

* * *

His promise sounded very earnest, I admitted to myself as I strode along the roadside, but I had a feeling that there was a deeper and darker threat behind his words, as if he was already planning something. I was pretty glad to leave him nonetheless; Skjor had been through a hell of a lot in the Great War and he wasn't a racist bastard to all around him. He got on with everyone. And irritated me more than anyone.

Soon, some way into the mist and further away from Karthwasten, I stopped, discovering another track. Pausing to identify it, I heard a soft rustle of movement behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, one hand resting on the hilt of my dagger, I waited for the Forsworn to suddenly leap out.

But it was nothing. A shy fox put its slanted snout out from the bracken for a moment, and then dashed across the road and vanished into the fog.

Letting out a soft sigh of relief, not wishing to show my apprehension, I straightened and looked up. The faint markings, it seemed, were leading straight up a steep and stony rise, into the very mountains themselves.

Frowning in puzzlement, I approached the near-vertical wall of stone before me. How was I meant to get up there? How could anyone even get up there?

I looked down at the earth beneath my feet. Crouching down, identifying the broken grass stems and the snapped twigs into the shape of many footprints, it seemed that they had jumped, pulled each other up, and disappeared.

These Forsworn must be very agile. I slung my bow more firmly over my shoulder, braced myself, and then leapt. My jump carried me high enough for me to grasp a few stones. I winced as the stones scraped against my bare skin. I scrabbled for a foothold, finally found one, and with difficulty, hauled myself up and over the ledge. Quickly I grasped another stone, and steadily I rose, hoping I hadn't made too much noise. Were there any Forsworn around me now?

If there had been, I'd have been dead by now, I reasoned. I crouched down low, trying to determine if I was going the right way. The setting sun was making it more difficult to see clearly. For a moment, I searched for any sign that life once had passed through here, bounding nimbly over the stones.

Finally I found evidence. A footprint twisting sharply away from the direction I had originally intended to follow. I straightened slightly, and looking around to determine my seemingly-more-dangerous environment, I began to climb.

It was perilous and tricky, and soon I forgot about everything other than trying to not lose my grip. I grasped the slick stones and pulled, thoroughly dragging myself over numerable rocks, scratching my armour and making it clank noisily. Soon my limbs were aching. Irritably I wondered to myself, as I jumped a small ledge and pulled myself up to the next, how in Stendarr's name the Forsworn could clamber over this.

Darkness fell. I climbed higher and higher. I began to wonder if I was being misled. Scrambling deeper into the highlands, my doubts grew. Soon I managed to pull myself onto a small grassy plateau. Fog swirled around me, and it was growing too dark to see. Letting out a small sigh of weariness, I straightened up, every muscle in my body protesting. Exhaustion dragged at my eyelids. I knew I couldn't go on like this. I hadn't had a thing to eat since we had left Rorikstead, earlier that morning.

We had intended to reach Karthwasten by midday, but all that was spoiled when we got lost halfway to Karthwasten. After spending a humiliating two hours looking for the road again, we finally rediscovered it, but by then our horses all had bruises on their legs. Even Stormy was being obedient, though that was mainly out of weariness than simple good will.

Letting out a sigh, I looked around, deciding to hunt. But it was growing too dark to see anything clearly now. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I had that ability to see in the dark as Khajiit could. Everything weighed down on me. And yet, I could not shake a feeling that I was in danger.

Was I nearing this place, I wondered? The place where the Forsworn leaders were hiding with their small army of protection concealing them, the place where I needed to go and execute them. Vaguely I remembered Eiwen's advice towards me: _the places where enemies look little are the places where you will be safest. Hide in places farther, and you are in danger. Hide in places closer, and they will not discover you until the time is too late for turning back._ Was I close to danger, away from danger or in a place where they looked little?

I saw something outlined in the grass that immediately shelved my exhaustion away for later. I quickly crouched down.

There were footprints. Inconspicuous to an untrained hunter's eye, but not to me. There was freshly-trampled grass, footprints outlined in the soft, pebbly soil, and a lot of both, all leading in one plain direction. Beneath me, and winding around, deeper into the swirling silvery fog, and up a gently-sloping hill that loomed suddenly before me.

I was close, I realized. Some of these markings were just a few hours old. A group of Forsworn had passed by recently.

I looked around quickly, that sense of danger growing. Were others approaching?

Briefly my mind flickered back to the time when I hid in the heather, terrified, watching a monstrous black beast feast on the fresh corpse of an elk. Seeing the four others bound to its side. The memory was at least four years old but clear as day still in my mind. I knew that they were around Whiterun; often, at night, I could faintly hear them calling to the moon. Kodlak had assured me many times that there were no reports of the strange creatures attacking civilization, and were simply feeding off what the wilds offered them, and that they always vanished whenever he called some Companions together to follow their trails. Once I had even gone with them, but he was right; the beasts' prints always seemed to suddenly vanish, and I was still perplexed at their cunning.

But I didn't feel as if those beasts were around here now. Even so, I wasn't willing to take a risk. I bent down and smeared grass and earth over my skin and face, twisted my hair back and dampened it with dewdrops that stained the grass beneath me. I doubted the Forsworn could smell out scents like dogs, but at least it gave me a more earthen appearance, which could be useful if I ever needed to hit the dirt later on.

I straightened, and began to follow the trail, winding continually uphill. My heart pounded furiously against my ribcage. I was drawing closer now. And for the sake of the Reach, for the sake of my Companions, who were garrisoned in a lonely town that could even be under attack as I thought of them, I had to do this right, and I had to enter the den of the Forsworn.

There were three or four Briarhearts, said Jarl Ulfric. I would have to kill them. I also realized that I was going to have to kill everyone in the den, too; I couldn't exactly lead an army of warriors up the vertical face of a stone cliff. Fear crawled beneath my skin but I forced it down.

The odds are against you, a voice muttered in my head.

Of course they were against me. But I'm a huntress.

I paused.

And what did hunters do, when they finally learned the location of their prey, who were too powerful for direct confrontation?

I smiled a little to myself. Of course. I would have to trap them, weaken them, before finishing them off.

I didn't have any traps with me, said the non-optimistic voice.

My mind flashed back to the earlier times, when I was only ten or twelve, first learning to set traps with Panjor. "What happens if you don't have a trap with you?" I remembered asking him.

Panjor had given me a grin. "Then you do what any good huntress does, Aela," he had said in response. "You make new traps out of what is around. You will find that materials for simple wounding traps are everywhere."

Venturing into a cavern that was probably filled with weapons, ropes, and what else? I grinned now. Oh, I could make traps all right. Derrick may think that fighting directly was what made a true warrior. But true hunters remained undetected until the time when it was too late to turn back. Caging living and breathing people took much skill, because they had enough intelligence to try and work out the trap and free themselves before whoever set it returned to check what he/she had caught. Skill which, thanks to Panjor, I now possessed.

It was time to put my skills to the test, I told myself, as the mouth of a gigantic cave loomed suddenly out of the fog like a dragon opening its mouth to yawn. The footprints were fresher. And it was obvious what lurked in there.

_It is time_, I thought, my hands damp with apprehension, or maybe the fog. _Time to prove my worth to the Companions._ Four years of being with them, and surely, surely all I had learned would help me succeed. To help me survive.

I slipped into the shadows of the cave and wondered if I would ever come out.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if you didn't enjoy this chapter, not as exciting as other chapters I've done. It will get better! I was kinda in a hurry getting this up and done.  
At least you can progress immediately to chapter twenty-two - both chapters were originally intended as one chapter but I split it because otherwise it was going to be about 8000 words long in a single chapter and that's really too long for fanfiction.  
**


	23. Chapter 22 - Defense of the Reach Part 2

Chapter Twenty-Two

The two Forsworn walked, side by side, down the narrow tunnel. They looked around them as though suspicious of something was nearby. And then one of them let out a bellow of pain, quickly stifled as he shoved his fist in his mouth to stop himself crying aloud, and keeled over as his ankle was suddenly wrenched from under him with a grip as sharp as steel digging into his flesh. His companion whirled around, alarmed, at the same time his heel brushed against the frail tripwire. As it snapped, something shifted nearby. The Forsworn spun around, realizing his mistake too late. The head of a mace, attached by old rusted chains, swung from the ceiling with its rope bonds free, and slashed into his back.

As the Forsworn fell like his friend, I loosed my readied arrow, silencing the first Forsworn to fall for my trap. Before the second Forsworn could realize what was happening, my second arrow pierced the back of his head. When I was sure the chamber was silent once more, and that no more Forsworn were going to come charging in, I slipped out from behind the fallen boulders where I had been hiding and leapt towards the dead enemies. Wrenching my arrows from their bodies and cleaning them briefly on their tan hide and bone armours, I slipped them into the quiver and melted back into the darkness like an assassin.

Entering the next chamber, I scoped the room. Three Forsworn stood by a flickering fire, with supply boxes stacked all around. A fourth was asleep on a ragged bedroll nearby. A fifth was seated at a rickety-looking table, counting the septims in a torn purse. One half of the room was well-lit. I frowned, thinking.

_Pretend they're not people. Think of them as animals._

Those had been the very words Skjor had first told me nearly four years ago to this date. When I had doubts about my first contract, heading to Fort Dunstad to eliminate the bandits there. They had helped me focus all this time, whenever I had received a contract that involved killing people. And when I thought of all the training that I had, and all the knowledge I had learned from Panjor, eliminating large groups of Forsworn suddenly didn't seem so terrifying.

And I was more skilled with using a one-handed weapon. Oh, I only used my dagger, yes, but Samiith and Ornith both told me I was growing pretty lethal with it. And their opinions I took into account. I respected the Argonian and the Dunmer greatly.

I remembered Eiwen's words. I kept my face passive, and my eyes bright. I needed to concentrate. Spotting several weapons and abandoned items which I could easily use and turn into traps, I allowed myself to softly disappear into the darkness.

A few moments later, I had finished the newer traps. Now it was time to spring it. I stepped back, drawing an arrow, knocking it to the string, and aiming to kill. I found the target, and then I released.

It shot through the air with less noise than an owl. And buried itself into the Forsworn. He gargled with surprise, hands going towards his throat, but within that moment his legs crumpled and he fell. Alarm flashed instantly from his friends.

"Ready your weapons!" bellowed one. "They've come in here!"

His shout woke up the Forsworn sleeping on the ground. I pulled the second arrow, knowing I still had a vague wisp of the element of surprise. But then I would need to move, and hope that my trap would be sprung. Then I released my second arrow. It shot through the air, and into the gut of the Forsworn who had cried out. With a groan of agony he sank to the ground.

_Head, heart, throat or gut,_ I muttered to myself, watching apprehensively as the three Forsworn suddenly drew their weapons and sprang into the darkness.

One of them let out a yell of pain and fell as he slipped over the strand of wire I had pulled between a few of the more abandoned crates. His weapon clattered and skidded across the floor away from his grasp. As the Forsworn struggled to rise, the other Forsworn, the one who had been sleeping on a bedroll near the fire, stumbled into another ankle-trap and nearly had his leg wrenched from him as he tried to continue running, even when his foot was tangled. He was dragged to the ground. In his desperation to pull himself free, he tugged too hard on the hard wire. The wire string that was attached to the supply box at the base of one of the piles was tugged loose, upsetting the many more crates stacked on top. With a panicked scream, the boxes fell and crushed him.

"Gods, there are traps here!" snarled the Forsworn gold-counter. He strode over towards the fire, snatching up a piece of fallen wood, and swept it into the flames. Fire kindled at the end, and as the Forsworn hurried towards where his friend was just clambering to his feet, having finally untangled his boots from the tripwire at last, he growled, "A bit of light ought to tell where the little rat is hiding. Get up, you useless idiot, and follow me!"

Light washed down the tunnel where I was hiding. Quickly I retreated, as I heard their footsteps echo down the corridor. Quickly I fumbled for a third arrow. Well, I could at least reduce the number down to one so I wasn't outnumbered. At least my traps had worked to delay and confuse them.

As I saw them draw near, I released my third arrow, striking one of the Forsworn, the one who had tripped. His eyes opened wide but he was already dead when he hit the ground. The torch-wielding Forsworn immediately roared, "Found you, you little maggot!"

And I was pretty sure he had found me. Too late to run. I straightened, throwing the bow aside, yanking the dagger from its sheath. Then I ran at him.

The torch swept backwards as the Forsworn whipped the weapon up to defend himself. Eyes burning with intensity, he jerked the weapon back and thrusted forward. I spun on heel, parrying the blow with my dagger, using my unoccupied hand to steady myself. The Forsworn let out a soft snarl of anger, eyes glittering with malice. Heat blazed past me and suddenly indescribable pain seared through one side of my body. With a gasp and a scream mingled into one I fell away from the burning torch, my free hand going to my ravaged side where the heat had burned through the armour and fabric and scoured my flesh. Blood ran over my fingers, and my side throbbed.

The Forsworn advanced, weapon in hand. He was going to kill me, and everything would be lost, I realized. He was going to kill me, and probably the Reach would be taken. The plans would remain undiscovered. The Forsworn would conquer back the land and slaughter all within it.

I would never see Skjor again.

And suddenly, thinking that one name, of the fear that I was never going to return to Jorrvaskr, that rage I felt, the exact burning feeling that I had first experienced in the colds of the Pale as I fought for my life against the Bosmer bandit, seared through me, hotter than the pain of the burn in my side. I hurled myself to the side and the weapon swished over me. Instantly the pain fell from my body as I leapt to my feet, thrusting forward with all my might. Pushing with my free hand back the arm that brandished the torch, I pushed the dagger up to the hilt beneath the rib cage and up of the Forsworn.

For a moment, he looked startled. Then agonized. And then relaxed. His eyes dulled. I jerked the dagger free from his corpse and he fell with the clattering of the tiny decorative bones fastened to his tan armour onto the stone ground. The torch rolled from his grip. The flames winked and snuffed out.

The feeling died. The pain returned. With a soft gasp I sank to the ground onto my knees, gritting my teeth. I had not suffered such a wound like this in my four years of serving with the Companions. Trembling a little, I sheathed my dagger, and pushed myself back to my feet, and went to collect my fallen bow.

Heading back up to the first chamber, where I prised the arrows from the corpses of the dead Forsworn, I was about to crouch and warm myself in front of the fire for a few moments—and search a few of the crates for a healing salve, perhaps—I suddenly heard voices echo in the corridors that led deeper into the caverns.

"Heard a shout down here. You think it's important?"

"Probably not. Probably another damned goat's run in here, or they're just drunk."

Oh, perfect. Panic coursed through me. The footsteps were growing louder. Instantly I leapt behind one of the supply crates, just as I heard the footsteps grow louder. The people had entered the room. And then they stopped.

"What in Oblivion happened here?" a woman asked in disbelief.

"Arje, Chachan, dead?" a male voice whispered hoarsely. "And...and where are the others?"

I heard someone crossing the room quickly. I pressed myself against the crate and listened intently, barely daring to breathe, listening with all my might. Were there others?

Suddenly I saw a shadow fall near the crates, outlined by the crackling flames. It was too close. If they turned around the corner, I would be found there, burned in one side, my only defense a dagger, against two fully-armed Forsworn.

"Arrow wound," muttered the woman. "An archer's been here. And they're recently killed, too; they're still warm."

"Sheor's blood!" croaked the man. "The...the archer must be around here somewhere."

_Closer than you'd think,_ I thought grimly. Silently I drew an arrow from my quiver, and listened intently as I heard the footsteps pass around the crate.

"Do you think they went down here?" the man asked.

"Silence, you idiot!" the woman hissed. "Do you want the person to know we're looking for them? Shut up and follow me."

I heard the sound of twin blades being drawn. I had heard the sound often enough when I heard Ornith train outside Jorrvaskr. And when he and I had done contracts together. I knew I didn't have a chance fighting a twin-swordsman. What weapons did the male Forsworn carry?

"Wait." Suddenly the footsteps ceased. I felt my heart skip a beat.

"What is it?" the man asked tensely.

"An archer wouldn't just flee back through the tunnels," said the woman slowly. "Not after getting this far. I think...I think the person is still here."

Her voice hardened. "Check behind everything! The furniture, the crates, the shadows. I'll guard the passage in case the archer tries to make an escape."

_Oh, shit, shit, shit,_ I thought, gripping my bow tightly. _Keep calm,_ I said firmly in my mind, as I heard the man's footsteps approach the crate. _Keep calm, and concentrate. You're going to be found, and so you're going to have to fight. So there's no point in panicking._

The man's head suddenly appeared around the corner. As he shouted in alarm and surprise, "Here! Over here!" I swung around and loosed the arrow. It embedded itself firmly in the Forsworn's chest and he fell over, already dead. But the damage was done. The woman let out a roar that reverberated around the stone chamber. Quickly I leapt out from my hiding place, already tugging out another arrow.

I met the eyes of the woman. She met my own.

And that's when I saw her heart.

Oh, Gods. It was a terrible sight to see. A real briar, green as grass and red as the blossoms on the Gildergreen, in the place of her heart, with only a few sinewy tendons stretched over it where skin would never grow over.

The woman let out a scream of fury and charged. She held twin blades, each wickedly-edged, all around the circular circumference. Out of shock at facing a Briarheart, I loosed my arrow without really aiming. It struck home, catching the woman's leg, but she ploughed forward as if she hadn't noticed.

She swung wildly. I dodged. The burn in my side hurt, and I didn't move quickly enough to escape injury. With a sweeping motion the other blade lashed across the back of my armour and threw me off my feet. Immediately I rolled without checking where the woman was, and heard the twin _cracks_ as the two blades smashed upon the ground where my head had been a moment earlier.

As I struggled to my feet, the woman let out a plaintive wail. "Intruder! Myasi, Vagrusa! Get your feathery asses down here!"

"Can't take me alone?" I sneered, even though my burn wound was really killing me and my back was aching where I had taken the blow. I left the bow where it was and grabbed my dagger instead, looking pitifully small against the twin blades the Briarheart was holding.

The woman smiled. Her eyes were empty and cold. "No, not at all. But it's so I can have help dragging your corpse to the sacrificial table. Your eyes...we must have them!"

"I intend on keeping my eyes and my life," I scowled.

The woman let out a hoarse, humourless laugh. "Oh, really? You have never faced a Briarheart in your lifetime, I can see it in your eyes. You have no idea what strengths that we Briarhearts may wield!" With a shrieking, unearthly cry, she lunged again. I moved to the side, lifting the dagger in defense, and kept moving.

The speed at which the Briarheart fought was nothing short of incredible. She moved with more accuracy and fluency and grace than Ornith, and that's saying something. And her eyes chilled me to the heart. They were cold, empty, forgotten. And the sight of her briar heart still freaked me out a little.

Despair, for a moment, crashed over me as suddenly the dagger flew out of hand, delivered by a blow to the wrist that drew blood and made me gasp and stagger backward for a moment. I was outnumbered; whoever this Myasi and Vagrusa were, they were coming and obviously able warriors, I wasn't a dual-bladed person and not specially trained in swordcraft, and this Briarheart did not know such a thing as mercy. She let out a wild shriek of something like triumph and leapt forward.

And the feeling returned, the feeling of nothing more than a desperate need to survive. I pushed myself to the side, and snatched the dagger from the ground. The Briarheart's blade lashed across my arm and pain lanced up my body though I barely felt it then. All I remembered was suddenly, for a split second, the Briarheart's gruesome chest was exposed. And that I took the opportunity to strike right away. I leapt forward. I seized the Briarheart by the throat. As I drove the dagger as hard as I could into her briar heart, her twin daggers came crashing down on either side of me.

For a moment, we held positions. And then the Briarheart slumped, her cold eyes devoid of life. She fell to the floor as I pulled the dagger from her repulsive heart.

Now the pain returned in full strength and I let out a soft moan as the world trembled a little before my vision. Blood flowed freely from the gash on my arm, though not enough for me to fall faint. My sides ached badly; my burned side in particular, where one of the Briarheart's daggers had sliced through the scalded flesh and drawn fresh blood. But thank the Gods for my body armour; it really was proving useful, though I'd have to get Eorlund to repair it when I returned to Jorrvaskr.

If.

The thought of not returning was frightening. It reminded me of my mission. One of the leaders of the new Forsworn rising was dead. I gave my head a small shake to clear the slight fuzziness, and then knelt down beside the unmoving Briarheart. Did she have anything on her body that could reveal the Forsworns' intentions to me?

My hands brushed against a small fold of parchment. Quickly I tugged it from her belt, and unfolded it.

_1__st__ Heartfire_

_Aviccia,_

_We strike Karthwasten tomorrow night. Leave none alive. We will march on Markarth on the 5__th__ of Heartfire. Find forces in the Karthspire, we will need the assistance of the Forsworn there, but we already have much of the number under our banner. They will all revel under Red Eagle's Fury, and once again the Reach will be free. Send your most able warriors to the ragged city and claim it; it should not prove difficult for capture. Word: our spies have noted that Companions from Whiterun plan to intrude. Hopefully they will not arrive at Karthwasten in time, and will all walk straight into our ambush._

_Chau'antus and Evicik will lead the attack on Karthwasten. You must be there also. Mavuria_

It seemed that suddenly, all which I had come for, had risked my life for, now rested in my hands. At the same time, a sickening feeling shot through me as I realized today _was_ the 2nd of Heartfire, the night of the intended attack.

Oh, shit. Skjor and the others would be fighting already!

I stood up abruptly at the same time I heard a terrible rasping hiss echo from the chambers. "You call us, pretty Aviccia?"

It was a horrible sound, like a terribly distorted old woman's voice. I spun around, in time to see two of the ugliest and horrifying creatures suddenly enter the room. They were like shrivelled old women, except with terrible bird's claws and hands, and raven-black feathers covering the scaled and pinched skin, and drew breath with a rasping, rattling hiss.

For about one quarter of a second, we held gazes, and then one of them shrieked in pure fury, "Intruders! Intruders in the cavern! Killed our pretty Aviccia! Kill the intruder!"

Brilliant time to meet Myasi and Vagrusa. I saw destruction magic suddenly kindle between their long, hideous claws. Stendarr's mercy, I had not expected those vile creatures to know magic. And I didn't know how to defend myself against raw fire. I mean, the torch was hot enough.

There was only one thing I could do. I turned and ran.

A solid fireball slammed into the wall beside me and boiling heat washed over me, momentarily disorientating me and causing me to stumble. As I fell, my fingers knocked against something I vaguely recognized. My bow! I grasped it and straightened already running.

Another fireball shot after me, crashing into the ground at my heels, flames rearing out of nowhere, licking at the steel plating on my boots. I ran faster and faster, my terror evident. What kind of nightmarish animals were these?

"Kill the intruder! Kill the intruder!" the creature's wild cry echoed after me. It didn't seem that they were as fast as I was. But I was injured and tired quickly, and I knew that within moments, if I dawdled, if I stumbled and fell, they could be on me and burning my body to a corpse.

The cavern opened up. I could see faint light ahead of me. I could hear the wild shrieks of the hag-bird animals rebounding off the tunnel walls just behind me and I knew they were very, very close. I had no time, but my wounds really were killing me. Blood poured freely from my side and the gash on my arm and my senses were beginning to spin.

My hand was still clenched around the parchment. I knew that I couldn't lose it. My other hand was clenched around my bow. As I ran, I suddenly heard those beasts appear behind me and let out an unearthly scream. I glanced over my shoulder, to see their wrinkled faces twisted in animalistic fury, and fire kindle in their claws. One of them twisted her wrist back and released a flaming ball of pure fire.

I pulled myself to the side, but the force of the fireball slamming into the ground where I had been about one second ago blew me off my feet. Heat washed over me and I felt searing pain race suddenly up my right leg and realized I must have been struck by the burning flames. I fell to my side but that desperate surviving sense was driving me forward, making me forget my pain, only telling me to run, to get out, to flee.

Another fireball blazed past me, though it wasn't aimed very well and struck the cavernous wall above me. Embers fell down towards me and I winced as the burning little lights touched my bare arms and cheeks. But then I was back on my feet, and despite the burns on my leg I was running, that nameless survival sense driving me forward. The creatures were racing after me again though they couldn't keep up. Their spells went wide and slammed in various places, but I suddenly saw the cavern's opening just ahead. I launched myself forward and scrambled almost wildly up the slope, pebbles raining down behind me as I made my escape.

The night air slapped my face as I heaved myself out of the cave. At once I was on my feet again and running, but those creatures were suddenly right behind me again, letting out furious shrieks. Fireballs blazed past me left and right.

I skidded to a halt when I came to the top of the cliff which I had scrambled up before. I considered turning back and trying to find another slightly safer way down but a fireball suddenly blazed inches from my shoulder and I knew I'd have to risk it. The creatures were fast approaching, their furious cries growing clearer to my ears.

I slung the bow over my shoulder and pocketed the parchment, the survival sense burning like flame in every inch of my body. I swung myself around, found a footing, and began to scramble down.

The creatures shrieked with rage as they halted at the top of the cliff and looked down at me. I realized too late that I was at a serious disadvantage. Flames kindled in their claws, astonishingly bright in the mist and the darkness.

My foot slipped beneath me. In panic I lashed out, and caught hold of a rocky crag, at the same time I saw orange light sudden flash before my eyes. Just in time I let go of the crag I had been holding as raw flames smashed into it, but now I was dangling by one arm from a hold in the stone face that wasn't exactly the most secure of places to hold onto. Below me was a perilous rocky bounce to the bottom.

There was a shriek from one of the creatures. "Kill her, now, while she hangs defenseless!"

I saw their eyes glint above me. Flames sprouted from their claws. Instinctively I swung myself to the side, reaching out desperately with my other hand for anything to hold onto. My fingers caught on a ledge, scrabbled, held for the briefest of moments until I got a foothold. If only Panjor had taught me how to climb cliff faces. That would've been damned useful.

Then flame shot past me, narrowly missing me, slamming into the stone just beneath me and sending a wave of heat, but fortunately not flames, rolling up the backs of my legs. I knew I couldn't hold on much longer. Fear was speeding through me as I realized that I could well die.

I looked down. There seemed to be some sort of narrow ledge there. Perhaps if I could land on it, and then work my way down out of shooting distance of the creatures. But my wounded leg was finally reminding me of its injury, blood ran down my arm, and I was completely and thoroughly exhausted after hours of no food or rest. I might not be able to make the jump.

Before I could make up my mind, it was made up for me. I saw orange light race towards me as a flaming fireball. I couldn't move in time. The flames struck the stone just above me, burning heat washing over my hands and arms, the force of the blow, making my hands slip away from the rock, chunks of stone fall and knocking my legs out from under me. The next thing I knew was that I was falling.

I wrapped my hands around my head.

The first strike against the stone knocked me breathless. Stones rained down on me. Everything was a wild whirl of stone and mist. All I remembered then was suddenly falling again, crashing against the stones, rolling and tumbling, everything dizzying and rolling around, until suddenly I landed. Hard. Everything shuddered for a moment, until finally, everything stopped moving.

For a moment, I lay, completely stunned, completely senseless, upon the road.

And then I remembered who I was, where I was, and what had just happened. And pain washed over me almost immediately. With a soft groan, I rolled slowly and stiffly over, and tried to stand. Another wave of pain and nausea this time as well washed over me.

But eventually I managed to sit up, and wince as I looked at the extent of my injuries. An ugly red lash of burned skin ran up the side of my leg where the flames had caught me and burned holes in the fabric and made ugly scorch marks on the metal on my armour. The gash on my arm didn't look like it was the best wound to obtain. It still seeped blood. My head ached where I had slammed it on the road.

Stiffly I pushed myself up into a standing position. My leg trembled violently beneath my weight and sudden sickness churned in my stomach, and I had to grip the stone more tightly for support. My senses were still swimming slightly.

And then I remembered. The attack on Karthwasten. They were fighting now. I had to get back to them.

Fear for Aileen and Derrick, for Orgmund and Myllasa, for Skjor, pushed me forward. I half-fell, stumbling slightly as I did so, though I didn't fall. My leg hurt with every movement I made over it, but I forced myself to keep running, even though I was feeling fainter and more ill from exhaustion, blood loss, and the general shock of having fallen over a cliff.

As I ran up the road, my strides becoming more fluent, I began to hear the sounds of fighting. Of metal clanging against metal, of angry shouts and screams, and...oh, Gods. And of fire.

Smoke spun up above the fog. The shouts of battle were growing louder. The sense of survival rekindled and I forgot my pain as adrenalin shot through me. Pain had no place here for now. I shrugged my bow down from my shoulders and ran up the last of the road at a dead run.

I spun around the corner, already yanking an arrow from my quiver. In the split second it took for me to knock it to the bowstring, I saw the scene. A house had gone up in flames. Bodies were sprawled across the ground, most of the Forsworn but some were Eastmarch guards. I couldn't see any dead Companions. Many were still fighting furiously.

And then I heard an angry shout. A Forsworn came charging out of nowhere. I released my arrow and it sank into his side, and he staggered in pain, but then he was running again. Hastily I began to draw another arrow, but he was already upon me.

A kind of rage suddenly flared within me. Hell, I had not come all this damned way to die! Without thinking twice, I swung the bow as hard as I could, and the hilt smashed across the damned Forsworn's head. With a yell of pain he receded, clutching a hand weakly to his skull, giving me enough time to whisk out my dagger and slice across his exposed neck.

And then I heard a shout of panic. "Drive them back! Drive them back!"

I heard a horse whinny somewhere in Karthwasten, and then a roar of anger, and suddenly Myllasa exploded from the smoke and sank her scimitar into the exposed sides of a Forsworn who had been fighting an Eastmarch guard. On heel she spun around, a lethal, whirling killing device, and clanged it against the raised twin axes of...

A Briarheart.

Myllasa's eyes widened in shock. The Briarheart pulled back and kicked out – hard. It caught Myllasa hard in the gut and she staggered backward, totally winded. The Briarheart rushed forward but immediately Myllasa had straightened, twisted so she was behind the Briarheart, and slammed her scimitar into the side of the Briarheart.

But this Forsworn was something like a killing machine. Completely unperturbed by his ghastly side wound, he spun around, slamming his weapon hard into Myllasa's hand. She winced but did not let go of her scimitar, even though blood coursed freely down from her hand.

She wouldn't stand a chance. She was a masterful one-handed fighter but she didn't even wear armour, just the simple Redguard cloth of Hammerfell. I released my arrow, and it buried itself into the shoulder of the Forsworn Briarheart, causing him to pause, as though confused, and look towards me.

I ran out of the smoke towards them, and as I pulled another arrow from the quiver I shouted, "Head, heart, throat or gut, Myllasa!"

The Redguard looked utterly relieved to see me. Her face hardened with determination. She charged. I charged. The Forsworn charged.

I raised my readied bow and fired. The arrow pierced his leg, but that didn't do anything except make him even more furious than he already was. He raced forward. I drew my dagger. Before the Forsworn could attack, Myllasa was there, and she shoved her scimitar with all her might through the Briarheart's gut.

The Forsworn let out a soft groan. I whisked out another arrow, drew, and fired it right into his briar heart. His eyes widened in unspeakable agony, which quickly dulled as I stole his life away from him.

Myllasa wrenched out her thoroughly-bloodied scimitar from the corpse of the Briarheart. "Good thing you showed up when you did," she wheezed, her eyes streaming from the smoke. "Would've got me good and proper, otherwise..." Then her eyes widened. "Shor's bones, what happened to you?"

"It's nothing," I said, almost angrily. "Where's the others? Where's Skjor?"

"Aela, is that you?" I almost cried with relief when I heard his voice suddenly echo from the swirling smoke.

The battle, I realized, was over. The last of the Forsworn were dead.

From the fog I saw Skjor emerge, with Orgmund just behind, a fresh wound to his face and clutching his two-handed monster of a greatsword.

"Gods, you...look terrible," said Skjor, taking in the extent of my wounds.

"Thanks. You look charming yourself." Skjor's wolf armour was completely ripped askunder, and fresh wounds were slashed across his face, arms and legs, still sluggishly oozing blood in places. I stepped forward, almost limping, as the pain in my leg returned. "I realized the Forsworn were attacking Karthwasten and came back as soon as I could. I think I may have been too late."

"You got that right, you damned huntress," snapped Orgmund suddenly, his voice almost angry. "Look at this place! A complete and bloody mess!"

"Don't be hard on her," Myllasa snapped in response. "She just saved my life!"

"One life of a veteran isn't going to make up for the lives lost tonight!" Orgmund snarled. "Or the losses of our Shield-Siblings!"

Horror shot through me. "What? Who? Who's dead?"

"Not dead; taken." Orgmund's face hardened in fury and in grief. "The Forsworn who managed to escape Karthwasten took Derrick and Aileen."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was intended to be merged with chapter twenty-one, but it's going to be another part-triology like the Lost and Found parts. Meanwhile, Aileen and Derrick captured! Have their pasts found them again? What will happen in chapter twenty-three, the final chapter of Part 2?  
**

**I'll try and get it uploaded tomorrow. Thanks all for viewing! I've had over 1,210 views in one week, over 200-and-something views for the Prologue! So, so happy! (reviews get me happier, and me being happy gets me writing faster, hint hint...)  
**


	24. Chapter 23 - Defense of the Reach Part 3

**A/N: Sorry, I lied, again I had to split a chapter into two chapters or it's going to be mega-sized. But at least it means they can be released together for you guys to read. Read on, and find out what happens in the Reach.**

**(Disclaimer: this is NOT the Karthwasten massacre mentioned in the High Hrothgar council, nor is it the time when Ulfric drove back the forces of Forsworn from Markarth and then got arrested, though you probably already know that by now)**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aileen and Derrick were gone.

The news was still sinking into me, even as I allowed my wounds to be tended to by Karthwasten's healer. The smoke was still curling up from the house that had been burning, whose flames had been extinguished with water from River Karth. The bodies of the Forsworn had been dumped into a mass grave. The corpses of the fallen Eastmarch soldiers were more honourably buried.

Fang had disappeared. Nobody knew where the dog had gone. He was presumed dead.

I found I didn't really care. I was numb with exhaustion. Numb with pain. Though the pain was lessening with the healing salves that had been applied to my injuries, I was too tired to think straight. My hunger had been quelled with a bit of food. And now I just sat down on the ground, and Skjor was beside me.

"You still look bloody awful," I said, without looking at him.

Skjor let out a small smile. "Doesn't anyone?"

There was a pause, and then Skjor said, "You did good, Aela. We have the advantage of surprise. We can send at once for new reinforcements from Whiterun."

"I don't think we'll have enough time," I argued. "The Forsworn said in the letter _if it goes well_. Obviously it didn't go well. They'll be attacking Markarth as soon as possible."

I frowned towards where the dead Briarheart that Myllasa and I had killed was being burned. It was not going to be buried. It was a small beacon of light on the fog-swallowed hill. "There was another Briarheart," I mused. "And this person in the letter must also be one. Mavuria. She'll be leading the attack on Markarth with the other Briarheart who managed to escape. The one who captured Derrick and Aileen."

I frowned suddenly, and turned to Skjor. "But there's something I don't understand. What's 'Red Eagle's Fury'?"

"Something which Aileen and Derrick would know in a flash," scowled Skjor, glaring at the parchment I had given him, at the writing upon it, frowning at the words. "But they're not here. But it must be something pretty big for the Forsworn, if they can get a massive encampment of feral Bretons to come to their aid in the attack on Markarth."

"We need to head out right away. The Jarls of Markarth and Eastmarch won't understand their danger."

"Not tonight. Tonight, we have to rest," Skjor said. He rested a hand on my shoulder. "You need to rest. You've barely had anything to eat or sleep, you've been badly injured, you've killed two Briarhearts and fallen over a cliff. You try to move now, you're going to fall into the river."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to snap at Skjor that he wasn't helping, that I was going to go to Markarth whether he wanted to or not...but all I did was nod. Exhaustion was clouding my senses. Skjor helped me stand and lead me over to where we were just lying on soft grass and hoping it would be enough tonight. It was clear, at least, so it wouldn't rain.

Myllasa was already asleep. Orgmund sat looking troubled upon a tree stump. As I passed him, he glowered at me, but I had no strength to angrily retort. Darkness claimed me the moment my head touched the ground.

When I awoke, I was already sitting up, and wincing in pain as my leg and my side screamed from the burns and my sides throbbed from the blows of the Forsworn daggers. Now that the darkness had cleared, the destruction of Karthwasten was evident to everyone.

Bloodstains were streaked across the earth. One house had been reduced to charred planks of wood. I looked around, searching for Skjor. When I found him, I stiffly rose to my feet, ignoring the painful protests of my battered body, and walked awkwardly over to him. He was sitting with Myllasa and another man who I thought I should vaguely recognize and yet not.

Skjor looked up. "Glad to see you're awake at last," he said. I realized he was sounding earnest. His eye was all for me. I sat down beside him.

"Now that you are awake, you can finally do some labour to get Karthwasten's shambled defenses up again," said the man who sat in front of us. He had a sort of hoarse voice that sounded businesslike nonetheless. He wore bear fur over his chainmail, and had a bear's head as a helmet. Currently it was thrown off, so a hard grizzled face was revealed.

I frowned, recognizing the man. "Galmar, right?"

Galmar nodded. "At least your memory hasn't been lazy of late."

"Go easy on her," said Myllasa irritably. "She went through a hell of a lot last night."

"So did we." Galmar crossed his arms and looked unimpressed. "But from what I've heard about you from these two, you went and did the job and you did it...well, 'clean' would be a bit of an overstatement, so let's just leave it as getting the job done."

"Nice to meet you too," I replied irritably. No wonder Jarl Ulfric had this man as his lieutenant. "Where's Orgmund?" I asked suddenly, realizing that the large, burly Companion was absent.

Skjor glanced at me. "He...er...went to Whiterun."

I stared at him. "What? He went to Whiterun? But...but there's no point! He won't reach the palace in time!"

"Don't be so sure of that."

I glared at Skjor. "So explain to me why his horse is still here, then." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brumby, the chestnut colt which Orgmund had been riding, nervously grazing on some grass alongside Eve and Dune.

"If I explained, it would take many days, which we don't have," said Skjor apologetically. "But you have to trust me. And we have to go to Markarth as soon as possible and bolster the barricades there."

"I don't trust you," I said angrily. "You're hiding something."

Myllasa frowned. She was puzzled as well. "Why did you send Orgmund to Whiterun without a horse?"

"I didn't send him; nobody can command Orgmund but Kodlak," Skjor retorted. "He left on his own will. He knew he could travel faster without a troublesome horse beneath him. Trust me, Aela, he is going to return, with reinforcements. I daresay he's already made it to Dragonsreach as we speak."

"How can he? It took us two days of travel to get from there to here," I snapped.

"If I may get a word in," Galmar growled, interjecting between Skjor's and my fast-rising argument. "Markarth may be under siege as we speak right now, and that is something I can be pretty damned certain of. Most likely, the Forsworn will have moved the attack on Markarth to today or tomorrow, depending on how long it will take to rally as many Forsworn as they can. All their attention will be devoted to the big city. Even so, my men and I are going to remain behind to garrison Karthwasten. That was Ulfric's orders and I intend to keep them."

I glared at him. "And the Companions? Where do we stand?"

"You'll have to remain behind and help with the defenses, and send a runner to Ulfric to warn him of the danger Markarth is in," said Galmar. "We've lost too many guardsmen, brothers and sisters to us alike, to be able to hold the town on our own."

Anger shot through me. "And what about _our _lost siblings? Aileen and Derrick? They've been captured, in case you've forgotten."

"And so most likely are dead," Galmar said bluntly.

"I don't believe that," I hissed. "Derrick and Aileen are alive, I'm certain of it, and being held prisoner by the Forsworn."

"We have to find them!" Myllasa agreed.

"Forsworn take prisoners for sacrificial purposes only," snarled Galmar. "To attempt to find and recover dead corpses will result in the loss of more lives. And you have orders, Companion."

I glared at Galmar, my anger rising to a seething fury. "I'm not willing to let them die! Aileen and Derrick are alive, I know this! And I'm not going to abandon them in their time of need!"

"And you're not going to abandon Karthwasten in this town's time of need!" roared Galmar.

_Do not desert those who need you, and particularly do not vanish, especially when they need you._ Jouane's words suddenly rang in my head. My eyes widened and I fell silent. I knew I had to uphold the promise to Jouane. I couldn't abandon anyone in their time of need. It only resulted in death and grief.

I couldn't desert Aileen and Derrick. They were my Shield-Siblings. They were bold and loyal warriors. Aileen had been a wonderful friend to me. Derrick had his moments of comments and racial remarks, but he was a Companion at heart. I had heard from Eiwen herself that when she and Derrick were assigned on contracts together, apart from constantly sniping at one another, they worked together to get the job done, and Eiwen and Derrick had been rivals since the first time they had met each other. I had to find them, I had to bring them back.

But I couldn't abandon Karthwasten. I couldn't vanish, as I had vanished from Rorikstead. Galmar and the Eastmarch soldiers and Myllasa, Orgmund and Skjor also needed me to defend the town. The Forsworn would return, I was sure. They would stop at nothing to reclaim the Reach.

How could I uphold the promise to Jouane? How could I help both towns who were in need of me? How could I help Aileen and Derrick?

_You are a huntress. You are a she-wolf at heart. You are solitary. You are alone._

"Alone," I repeated aloud.

"What?" grunted Galmar.

"I can do this alone." I stood up. "I can find them by myself."

Galmar glared at me. "You aren't leaving Karthwasten, Companion. I don't want to exert force."

"And I'm not leaving Aileen and Derrick to die, either," I snapped angrily. "You have Skjor, Myllasa and Orgmund as part of your defense. They are all more-than-capable warriors to defend Karthwasten. And the main attack was last night. Now the Forsworn's fury will be directed at Markarth. Jarl Ulfric may have taken a contingent of guards with him to bolster the guardsmen in the keep but he doesn't know what to expect from the Briarhearts. And there are going to be hundreds of Forsworn to deal with."

My fingers traced the bowstring stretched across my chest. "Unless I kill the Briarhearts first."

"You're...you're going to do this by yourself?" Myllasa stared at me. "Are you insane? Your mission to the Forsworn leaders' lair was one matter; that was what you were assigned to do and you did it admirably. But this time you're going to be walking right into a mass of Forsworn who may or may not be expecting you. You're up against two Briarhearts!"

"Not to mention you're wounded and weakened," Galmar added, glaring at me. "Your death won't exactly help us, you know."

Skjor suddenly stood up. I fixed him with an icy glare, expecting him to try and convince me to stay. But all he said was, "I think she should go."

Galmar, Myllasa and I were all too startled to speak for a moment. I had not expected Skjor to say that.

And then Galmar growled, "Ysmir's beard, Companion, not you as well."

"I'm not going to leave Karthwasten," Skjor said firmly. "I'm needed here—needed more than Aela is needed in this town." Turning back to me, he said, "But I'm not willing to let Aileen and Derrick go too quickly. And you know where to go. You can follow tracks. You can find them."

I nodded. "That is what I was trained to do. And my oath as a Companion is to never desert those in need. Not my Shield-Siblings, at that."

Skjor slowly nodded in agreement. "There...there truly is not another woman as remarkable as you, Aela."

A memory, long-buried under recent events, resurfaced. Of me standing knee-deep in cold white snow in the Pale, outside Fort Dunstad. Of Skjor turning to face me, a glimmer of respect flashing in his eye as he turned towards me to make sure I was all right.

_I haven't met anyone quite like you, Aela._ Those were his words then. And the way he had spoken them, he spoke that sentence now.

Quickly I pushed the memory aside, at how unusual I felt when Skjor said something like that to me, and said, "I'm going to go anyway, Galmar, whether you want me to or not. I'm stubborn, and I'm not going to abandon my Shield-Siblings, whatever you may say."

Galmar looked angry. "Be it on your damned head, then. Try and stop the rebellion while you're at it."

I turned towards the horses, but Skjor was beside me again, and he muttered, "Take Eve."

"What?"

"I'm serious. Take Eve. She'll make for a faster and easier ride, I'm sure." Skjor was earnest when he said this to me.

I glared at him. "Finally finding giving me Stormy not so funny, huh?"

"Not at all. It's still very amusing to think of how you ride." Skjor grinned to prove this.

I rolled my eyes, but accepted Eve's reins nonetheless. The black mare's eyes were still wide with the horrors she had seen last night but stayed still and quiet as I pulled myself up onto the saddle and grasped the reins. At least I was getting better at riding now.

"Good luck." Skjor stepped back.

Our gazes met for a moment, and then I gave Eve a hard nudge in the sides. The black mare leapt forward, away from the rest of the horses, cantering over the ground and around the guardsmen, clearing the wooden barricades in a single jump, and landing on the packed stony earth beneath. She raced down the slope, and as we met the road, I tugged on her reins to slow her, and my eyes scoured the surroundings for any mark where the Forsworn could have gone.

There were none too conspicuous. I gave Eve another nudge, forcing her into a trot, and headed back towards the way I had come, expecting that the Forsworn may have headed back to their lair. Vaguely I wondered if there was another route up; surely if they had escaped back up to their lair in the way I had first discovered the caverns, I would have met them when fleeing for my life from those horrible hag-like bird creatures?

A little way down the road, I soon came to the place. The earth was disturbed, of course, from where I had tumbled over the bank and onto the road. But there were no night-old footprints leading up.

I frowned in puzzlement, dismounted from Eve, and went to investigate closer. Yes, those were definitely footprints, but most of them were mine. I brushed them aside, searching for any more. Hadn't the Forsworn come this way after all?

Maybe they hadn't fancied climbing up a vertical rock face along a trail only they knew up to their caverns when they had two prisoners. Thinking of Aileen and Derrick suffering from the Forsworn put a sickening jolt in my stomach.

I straightened. But I was at a loss. I had expected whole-heartedly that the trail of the fleeing Forsworn would lead directly up to their caverns.

I turned back to Eve. I'd have to retrace my steps. The Forsworn would have gone another way.

And then I heard a plaintive bark suddenly echo along the road. I stopped in surprise and whipped around, drawing my dagger in a flash. Fox or wolf? But the bark didn't sound like either. In fact, it almost sounded like...

"Fang?" I called aloud.

Another bark answered me, and suddenly the browny-black dog charged out from the fog, tail wagging furiously, bright eyes latched upon me. I quickly sheathed my dagger and approached the dog, and he slowed his steps and stood before me.

He barked again, insistently, and his tail stopped wagging.

"Fang," I murmured. "Where had you gone?"

I must be seriously mentally injured if I expected the dog to answer, I told myself. Maybe I had hit the ground too hard after my fall down the cliff. But then Fang let out another bark, and trotted past me, and stared insistently over the Karth River.

I seemed to understand what he was getting at. Fang had always been ferociously loyal to no-one but Aileen, and occasionally Derrick, seeing as he was Aileen's brother. If she disappeared for too long, he would worry and go and find her. He had been searching for her for most of the night. He had been afraid to cross the River – for some impenetrable reason, the dog had always been afraid of moving water. But he seemed to realize that the Forsworn and their prisoners had crossed over.

I went over to Fang's side and picked up the enormous dog. He let out an insistent bark, and struggled for a bit, but I slung him over Eve's back and then, with one hand firmly holding him down, and the other hand holding Eve's reins, I led them both down to the moving, rushing water.

Fang let out a soft whimper of panic, and struggled harder. But as Eve drew to a halt and looked slightly apprehensively at the fast-flowing river, I swung myself up into the saddle and set Fang in front of me. The dog let out another whimper, but I firmly held down the struggling dog, and nudged Eve wordlessly forward into the river.

I expected the horse to rear back in panic, to buck both me and Fang off and go charging back to Rorikstead. But instead, Eve simply strode forward into the river. She snorted in surprise as the icy torrents of water tugged at her legs, threatening to knock her over. But she kept moving, and I leaned forward, holding Fang down firmly.

Water washed over my legs and into my boots. But I ignored the uncomfortable ice-cold feeling and urged Eve on, muttering words of encouragement and blasphemous curses against the Forsworn. Fang was about to howl as the waters stung his paws but I clapped his jaws shut firmly. It would do no good for him to give us away. Deeper and deeper Eve waded until the water was washing at her shoulders. And then she pushed herself forward and began to swim.

I steadied her with one hand, holding down a struggling and frightened Fang with the other. Eve snorted with the effort of swimming across the wide Karth. Her legs churned. For a moment I was afraid that we weren't going to make it to the bank. But suddenly Eve was over the deep patch, and her hooves struck the pebbly riverbed, and she pulled herself quickly out of the rushing water and stood on the far bank. Fang let out a miserable whimper as his sodden fur weighed him down.

I dismounted and set Fang back down on the ground, and then promptly had to step back as Fang gave himself a thorough shaking, sending droplets flying everywhere.

"Bloody dog," I muttered to myself, as I lowered my raised hand. "Now, listen, you mutt. Seek. Do you understand? Seek out your masters!"

Fang looked up at me. He looked puzzled for a moment.

"Seek!" I repeated.

Now Fang let out a confirming bark, and bounded forward. I leapt up onto Eve's back. Here, the pebbles were too disturbed for me to make out footprints, but perhaps with a dog following a scent, I would discover the Forsworn.

I waited tensely on Eve's back as Fang sniffed around, keeping his head lowered, desperate to pick up the faintest wisp of a scent. I was afraid he wasn't going to find a scent. The misty air had concealed it from his keen nose. And then suddenly he let out an excited bark and bounded forward. I nudged Eve after him. He hurried up the bank, his nose lowered, and then he lifted his head and raced forward. Eve cantered after him with me on his back.

And soon we discovered where the Forsworn had gone. And I began to see footprints, even from my place on Eve's back, and Fang hurrying in front following the scents. There was a hidden trail, leading through the high and dangerous highlands, leading deeper into the canyons and the fogs of the Reach.

"Good boy," I breathed to Fang. "Forward."

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**A/N: And straight onto part 4!  
**


	25. Chapter 24 - Defense of the Reach Part 4

Chapter Twenty-Four

We were here. I dismounted from Eve and lashed her reins loosely around some heather, and patted the black mare as thanks for her service so far. Fang stood nearby, every sense alert, facing something over the small cliff we had come to. Dropping down into the crouch, I edged up beside Fang and looked over.

By the Divines.

That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I looked down on what could only be the Karthspire encampment that the writer of the note I had looted from the Briarheart's corpse had explained about. There were many, many Forsworn down there. So many that I didn't dare count.

Gathered on raised platforms above the swirling dark waters of the Karth were tents, barrels of food, and Forsworn. Above, perched upon a rocky ledge that overlooked the entire camp, were several more platforms buried into the stone and the earth banks that rose high over the Karth. The smoke from a forge rose from the topmost platform. Several Forsworn were at the forge, crafting weapons, and sharpening their own ready-made ones on grindstones. On the lower platform was what I recognized to be a kind of spellcaster-Forsworn, by the ice spells that were kindling in one hand and the lightning-like spells flashing from the other. She stood over an eerie black table with glowing white runes and the skull of some kind of horned troll overlooking the runes, speaking strange words and casting her spells over a long-handled axe.

Hundreds of Forsworn had to be here, I realized. An army that could destroy Markarth utterly. Ulfric Stormcloak had no idea what he was dealing with.

This uprising was more serious than I thought.

"Good boy," I breathed to Fang, meaning it, and I patted the shaggy browny fur. Fang growled in response, baring his teeth at the Forsworn infantry walking on the platforms below us.

"Shh," I snapped softly. "Or you'll give us away and we're both good as dead."

For a moment I despaired. How could I save Aileen and Derrick? Where were they? How could I even hope to infiltrate the caverns silently, to take on a whole army by myself?

I didn't. I remembered, in that brief moment of panic, Eiwen's advice to me in Jorrvaskr, the night before I first departed. _Exterminate the leaders, and the Forsworn will scatter._

Two of them were dead. And two of them, I suddenly realized, would be within the safety of the cave mouth that overlooked part of the Karth as well.

Where Fang and I crouched, a trail led from around us all the way to the cavern mouth. We must have found a secret access route, I told myself, edging away from the cliff edge.

"Come, boy," I breathed. Hoping that the smokestains and dirt I had picked up so far would help conceal me from Forsworn eyes, I edged along the trail, towards the cavern mouth.

Fang suddenly pricked up his ears and growled. I turned back to hush him, and then heard footsteps suddenly resonate from within the cave. I pulled Fang and myself back against a boulder and heard the Forsworn emerge from the cavern. Fang flattened his ears and growled, but I clamped his jaws shut and hoped that for our sakes he was going to shut up.

The Forsworn paused outside the cave mouth, as if he had heard something. Then, deciding it must have been nothing, shrugged and walked on.

I silently let out a sigh of relief. Making sure that the coast was clear, I released Fang and slipped into the cave mouth, with the dog trotting just behind me.

When I was sure that the shadows had well and truly hidden us, I crept deeper down the widening tunnel and into the main room. Fire burned merrily from a ring of rocks in the centre of the cave. A wooden platform was raised nearby, leading deeper into the caverns. Several Forsworn stood comfortably near the fire, roasting several small animals on a spit over the cracking flames. Long shadows stretched across the floor. Beside me, Fang stiffened. He curled back his lips, revealing long white fangs.

There would be more Forsworn on the platform above us. I couldn't take out the Forsworn there. There were four of them by the fire. They didn't seem to care about what happened in the entrance. As long as Fang and I stayed silent, we could quietly edge around them and see if there would be any more Forsworn in this chamber.

We'd have to be silent. One false move would raise the alarm, which would bring the entire encampment of Forsworn down on both me and Fang. It would be immediate execution. Perhaps Fang understood this danger because he was being unusually quiet and obedient.

We crept as silently as we could up the wooden gangplank that led up to the platform. Peering cautiously over at the well-lit area, I could see another Forsworn standing nearby, speaking to a hard-voiced woman who had her back turned to me, and who wore a helmet that had long, sprouting antlers emerging from the top.

"How much longer until they're ready?" the Forsworn was asking.

"Another hour or two should do it," replied the woman. Her voice sounded hollow and terrible, empty and cold, hoarse and rasping and yet smooth as stones. It made my skin crawl just listening to her. "And then they will be with us, and we will launch our attack upon Markarth."

"The Hagravens Vagrusa and Myasi informed us this morning that an intruder killed Aviccia last night, and Chau'antus is dead from the Karthwasten battle," growled the man. "They said that the intruder was a woman."

"If she has enough strength to put down Aviccia, then she could be a danger to us," frowned the woman. "But not so much that it shall delay our plans. She may have made off with what we plan to do, but we will strike Markarth tonight, not on the planned day of the fifth of Heartfire, the moment my children are turned. With them at our sides, we can overrule both Markarth and Karthwasten and what futile resistance there is."

"Of course." The man dipped his head and stepped back. "If you must excuse me, I must return to my overview of the camp. The Forsworn are ready at your command, Mavuria."

_Mavuria. The name from the note._

"Excellent. We strike as the sun sets. Be off with you."

The Forsworn dipped his head and headed away, towards the gangplank where Fang and I currently crouched. Hastily I seized Fang, wrapped one hand around his mouth and retreated as hastily as I could back down the plank and into the shadows. The Forsworn drew nearer, and began to walk down the gangplank, heading towards the fire.

Fang's eyes narrowed and his ears flattened and I pressed my hand harder over his mouth. One sound, and he would betray us.

But he made no sound. The Forsworn walked frightfully close past us and towards the flames where the other Forsworn crouched, warming themselves.

That was too close.

"Come," I breathed to Fang. I released him and crept back up the gangplank. The woman had disappeared, unsurprisingly, but down a chamber which I could see outlined by candles.

Mavuria. Undoubtedly, she'd be a Briarheart.

Fang followed loyally as I stalked quietly across the platform, praying that the Forsworn nearby would not notice us. Perhaps there was such a thing as luck; they didn't see us. Letting out a soft prayer of thanks to whatever Divines were watching over me, I crept down the passage with Fang beside me.

For a while, we encountered no Forsworn. But then candles began to light a way to a small passage engraved in the sides of the walls. Beyond was some sort of gigantic opening, like an internal canyon, though no Forsowrn stood there. I had a strong feeling that wherever Mavuria had gone was literally into the walls. The fresh prints on the ground spoke this.

I looked thoughtfully at the candles. They lit all the way around the outline of the doorway.

Perhaps one opened it? I had heard of hidden candlestick levers before.

My hand went up to a particularly ornately-carved candlestick and tried giving it a pull. It slid down easily in my hand with a grating sound.

The rock wall in front of us shuddered. Suddenly a part of it dipped down into the ground, revealing a big hidden chamber beyond.

This was it, I realized. I could see that there were only three inhabitants in this hidden cave. My eyes widened as I recognized all of them, and Fang let out a soft growl of recognition, laced with terror for his masters. Because both Aileen and Derrick were in there. Each bound to a table with their chests facing up towards the ceiling. And standing over them was Mavuria.

Her chest was turned towards me. I could see the briar heart glittering within.

The room was well-lit by candles. There was nowhere for me to hide. Frantically my eyes darted anywhere in the room, anywhere that could be some kind of potential hiding space. But there was none. I would have to risk a direct frontal confrontation.

So far, she had not noticed that the doorway to the corridor was open and that Fang and I were currently crouched before it. It was only a matter of time until she did notice, though, and I knew I only had precious seconds to act.

My eyes sought out just above me was another candlestick, with the same ornate carvings as the one I had pulled outside. It would close and seal in the chamber. Hopefully it would muffle any sounds of fighting that were sure to come. If they didn't, I'd be dead, but I had no choice.

My hand reached up, grasped the candlestick, and pulled. The stone rose behind me until it had sealed it again with a confirming click.

And now Mavuria noticed. She looked up. I straightened, and walked slowly and boldly into the candlelight. Fang was beside me, letting out a soft growl.

"You are not with the Forsworn, child," Mavuria rasped.

I didn't respond for a moment. I pulled out one arrow, but didn't ready it, but knowing that if she tried anything, I could and I would swiftly draw it back and release. "Let the Companions go," I said.

"Aela!" I heard Aileen suddenly gasp my name. She struggled for a moment against her bindings. "Get out of here!"

"Silence, impertinent girl!" snapped Mavuria, and I felt a sudden wave of cold descend over the room, as though it was being drowned in ice-cold mists from the Pale. "You shall have your chance of speaking to your old friend soon, if you wish it."

She turned back to me. "You are brave to have come this far, woman," she hissed. "But you shall go no farther."

Fang let out an angry bark.

"I intend to go on for a long way yet," I replied. The survival sense was beginning to blaze in my blood again.

Mavuria let out a hoarse, crackling laugh. "You have no idea of the power which I wield! Oh, I can tell immediately that you are the one who slew my charming Aviccia and Chau'antus in Karthwasten. You have done well for your short stay in the Reach. But it will perish and it will burn, and you along with it. In fact, I was almost expecting you, so my pets told me."

"By pets, you mean those repulsive Hagravens, don't you?" I said coolly.

"Repulsive?" Mavuria grinned wickedly. "No, no; just grotesque. And they are savage little things who live in these lands and serve alongside the Forsworn. They give us the ancient powers of Earth Magic. And so we give them the freedom of the Reach, and all the power which they desire most; the commandment over others. All the alchemical ingredients that they need to brew us their legendary poisons and potions that could stop your heart in seconds, or transform you into something even uglier and more grotesque than they. They could make you suffer more pain than you could ever imagine possible."

"I'll say this one more time," I growled. The sense was burning now. Fang was bristling, about to attack. "Release Derrick and Aileen. Or I will kill you. I slew Aviccia and delivered the killing blow to Chau'antus. And I will kill you."

Mavuria let out a shrill shriek. "Oh! You amuse me, mortal one. You have a strong heart, I can see, a feisty spirit, oh yes...you will make a strong Briarheart when I am done with you!"

She swept up her arms, and I saw green magic glittering between her arched fingers. With a wild cry she cast both towards me. In a flash I had thrown myself to the ground, narrowly missing the spells, which crashed and dissipated on the stone just above my head. Picking myself up again, I threw the arrow to the bowstring as Fang charged, leaping up at Mavuria who was readying another spell. With an angry yell, the Forsworn Briarheart leapt aside, and Fang whipped around, sharp teeth reaching for her legs.

As Mavuria prepared to cast her spell, I released my arrow, and it buried itself into her side. She cried out in pain but not enough to weaken her much. Her eyes blazed with a paralyzing cold. She leapt around from the sides of the table, her spells glittering in her fingertips again.

I brought the bow whirling around. The steel-plated edges caught on her wrist and she let out a noisy shriek, receding for a moment. Then I dropped the bow and drew my dagger and leapt at her, knowing that I only had one chance to end this quickly.

Mavuria recovered quicker. She lunged at me. One hand wrapped around my wrist, and the other slammed into the side of my head. Lights winked in front of my eyes and I staggered, trying to wrench my arm free, but her grip was like iron. As my senses cleared, she loomed in front of me, one hand drawn back with that greenish magic fluttering between her fingers like a trapped moth.

And then Mavuria cried out in agony and the spell died as Fang sank his teeth deep into her leg, and heaving his weight backwards, dislodged her. She crashed to the ground, releasing my arm in order to do so. But before I could even charge at her again with the dagger, to cut into her repulsive briar heart, Mavuria had kicked Fang away from her leg, sending the hound sprawling across the ground stunned, and leapt smoothly back to her feet, completely unperturbed by her current injuries.

"I am all-powerful! I have Red Eagle's blessing, worm!" she screeched.

She charged again, magic kindling in her claw-like hands. I swept to the side and thrust out with the dagger, but I missed, and the dagger sliced open air. With a hiss of satisfaction, Mavuria whirled around, but in a flash, my dagger had been drawn back and I pushed forward as she did. As my dagger found its mark in her heart, her spell was cast from her right hand, striking me squarely in the chest.

Agony washed over me like pain I had never experienced before. My senses darkened; all I was aware of was the pain. Fire was licking at every corner of my skin, every droplet of blood in my veins. I let out a pained yell as my very heart burned, feeling myself fall.

And suddenly, it ended. As quickly as it had come, it had snuffed out. All my senses returned in time for me to feel myself landing heavily on the ground.

"Aela!" I heard Aileen call my name again, almost desperately. "Aela!"

"I..." I managed to rasp out. I was still gasping and breathless from the searing agony that had consumed my body. But I found my senses, and slowly I pushed myself to my feet, my throat loosening. "I'm all right," I said. My eyes fell to my dagger, lying nearby. It had black, foul-looking blood streaked across the metal.

Near it slumped Mavuria, dead, her eyes glassed over, widened in pain. Her briar's heart oozed black blood.

Quickly I pushed myself to my feet, grabbing my dagger. I hurried over towards the tables, where Derrick and Aileen lay.

Derrick seemed to be unconscious. Aileen looked barely alive. But she recognized me nonetheless as I cut through her bindings and helped her sit up.

"Gods, I...I don't know what to say to you..." Aileen coughed, blood bubbling at her lips.

"So don't say anything at all," I replied. "Can you sit up by yourself?"

Aileen slowly nodded. I went and cut through Derrick's bindings, but the Breton warrior didn't move.

"He lost consciousness a few moments before you arrived," Aileen said hoarsely from behind me. "Mother was...rough with us."

I spun around. "Your _mother?_"

Aileen nodded. "Mavuria."

I stared at her. "What...what did she want with you?"

"She wanted me and Derrick, her children, to become one with the Forsworn." Aileen's voice was bitter. "She was trying to make us her thralls, her mindless servants."

"Not Briarhearts?"

"Briarhearts are servants of Hagravens," scowled Aileen. "And Mother didn't want to kill us and rip out our hearts. She was using Earth Magic to lower our willpower, though, and to try and poison our minds, to persuade us that the Nords were our enemies." She sighed wearily. "She very nearly succeeded. I don't think I could have resisted for much longer."

"How much longer until Derrick comes around?" I asked tensely.

"Not long, hopefully," muttered Aileen. She shakily stood, and stayed standing; her strength was coming back quickly, and her eyes were looking clearer. "When Mother died, all the magic that she had died with her. Derrick should be waking up any moment soon."

I remembered the agonizing burning feeling with a wince, and almost self-consciously my hand went up to my heart. Aileen glanced at me with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Well, fine as anyone can be after they had every inch of them scorched."

Aileen suddenly reached over and felt my forehead. "You're not all right. You're clammy. Mother must have used Earth Magic on you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that even though most of her magic died with her, you'll still be feeling traces of it," Aileen warned me. "You'll be weakened. Not permanently, though, but temporarily." She looked up suddenly. "Fang!"

The dog suddenly lifted his head at the sound of his master's voice, and heaved himself to his paws and stumbled over towards her, letting out a bark. "You good boy," Aileen said warmly, as she stroked his battered and bruised head.

He was a good dog, I conceded. He had saved my life in the battle with Mavuria. But I don't think I was about to let Aileen know that I was indebted to a dog, one who I wasn't overly fond of for stealing food off the plates of people's dinners in Jorrvaskr.

A moment later Derrick came around. Aileen and I helped him sit up. His face was tight and drawn, but when his eyes flashed to me, he recognized me almost at once.

"Aela," he said, almost puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for a stroll," I said sarcastically. "What do you think I came here for, idiot?"

"Quick, brother, we have to move," Aileen murmured quickly to Derrick. "Can you walk?"

Before we could clarify if he was able to walk or not, I suddenly heard a familiar grating sound. And a moment later, the doorway to the corridor beyond slid down, and I saw a Forsworn Briarheart standing in the entranceway.

This had to be last leader. What was his name from the note? Evicik. The same man who had been speaking to Mavuria only about ten minutes beforehand.

"Shit," Aileen cursed.

"What is this...?" The Briarheart's gaze fell on Mavuria, and he cried, "Mavuria, dead? She's dead!" His gaze swept to me, at my dagger, still clenched in my left hand, still oozing black blood. "You! You did it! You will die!"

Well, at least he was straight to the point this time. The Briarheart charged. His cry would have roused all the other Forsworn in the cavern, if not more, I realized with dismay, but that fast faded to become my battle sense, the sense that urged me to survive. I forgot about all the pain I had suffered and leapt forward.

He brought the axe sweeping down low. I leapt to the side and thrust the dagger forward, slicing the Briarheart's arm. He cursed and whipped around, his axe gleaming as the mean edges sliced towards my throat.

Immediately I ducked down and rolled, straight into Evicik's legs, and causing him to fall straight over – a trick that Ornith had taught me some years back. Leaping to my feet again, I prepared to thrust the dagger as hard as I could into the fallen Forsworn's chest, but suddenly his arm lashed up and gripped my own in a painful grip, and dragged me down. I fell on my side as Evicik rose, raising the axe, preparing to bring it crashing down on my side.

"No!" screamed Aileen. Momentarily disconcerted, the Briarheart whipped around, and I looked up to see Aileen suddenly swing what looked to be a sort of thorny mace into Evicik's back. He grunted, winded, slacking his grip slightly and allowing me to pull myself away.

My foot knocked against something. My bow.

I leapt to my feet as the Forsworn charged at me again. But suddenly he had to fall back, and whip around, as a determined Fang gripped his ankle, and an enraged Aileen charged forward, weapon raised above her head and ready to bring it crashing down onto Evicik's head.

Suddenly I heard footsteps echo in the corridor and the four Forsworn by the fire suddenly all appeared in the doorway. I grabbed up my bow, dropped my dagger, and was already backing away as I yanked out an arrow, and shot it straight into the chest of the nearest Forsworn. As he fell down dead, his companions sprang over his body and charged enraged towards me.

I brought the bow swinging around, smashing into the nearest Forsworn's head. Suddenly another one was right in front of me. In desperation, I brought the bow up to glance off the furious swing of his mace, but the force of the blow sent vibrations running up and down my arms. I staggered backward into the table, suddenly realizing the odds certainly weren't in my favour.

And then suddenly Derrick was there, weapon in hand, battling the Forsworn who was nearest to him. The two Forsworn in front of me brought their weapons crashing down. I acted on instinct alone; I swung up and over the table, landing perfectly on my feet as if I skidded over tables and avoided death for a hobby. As I landed, my ankle knocked against something metal, and I saw a dagger in Forsworn style clatter near my feet. Without thinking I seized the weapon, released my bow, and spun around to battle the next Forsworn who loomed in front of me.

The next thing I knew, I wasn't even thinking anymore. I parried, blocked, delivered, thrusted, and then the Forsworn lay dead. I killed the next Forsworn with a simple sweeping motion at his throat, splattering blood over the dagger and the floor where he slumped, already dead. I heard Evicik let out an enraged bellow as the Briarheart rose in combat to fight both Aileen and Derrick. Fang snapped at his ankles, waiting for a perfect chance to strike, perhaps at the command of his master.

Suddenly I heard Aileen cry out in pain as a painful blow to her arm made her drop her weapon. Hissing in satisfaction, Evicik swung around abruptly, and kicked Derrick in the chest, sending the Breton skidding into the edge of the table, where he doubled over, utterly winded, trying to rasp his sister's name.

I acted, once again, on instinct alone. My hand moved. The dagger sailed out of my grasp and spun through the air, and buried itself into the Briarheart's chest.

Both of us stopped, utterly astonished. Slowly, Evicik looked down at the dagger, impregnated firmly in his briar heart which oozed black blood down his front, and then up towards me. His mouth moved. He was about to say something. And then he slumped, and crumpled onto the ground.

For a moment, there was nothing but complete silence.

Then Fang broke it with a bark. And Aileen sighed with relief, and stiffly Derrick pushed himself upright from the table, still grasping his weapon firmly. He turned towards me, and I was awed as I saw respect suddenly glitter in Derrick's gaze as he turned towards me.

"Aela," he said sincerely, "We are both in your debt."

Awkwardly, I nodded. "Er...we can talk later. We need to get the hell out of here before more Forsworn suddenly come."

Derrick abruptly nodded and turned away to help his sister stand. I recovered my bow, slinging it firmly over my shoulders, and found my steel dagger, which I slipped back into its sheath. Aileen and Derrick took Forsworn weapons for their own defense.

"Mother would have done away with our old armour," Aileen said, a touch sadly. "And all our weapons as well. But that's very little loss compared to what you've done for us today, Aela. We truly are thankful to you."

Fang barked, as if in agreement.

I didn't know exactly what to say, so I simply nodded. And then I looked down at Mavuria and Evicik, lying dead in this chamber. I thought of how my blade had pierced Aviccia's heart. She was dead, as well. And Chau'antus was nothing more than a few cinders now.

The Forsworn leaders were dead. The rest were going to scatter. Without leaders, they could not fight. If they did, they were disorganized, and would not succeed in swamping Markarth. I had completed my mission. All that remained was slipping away from the Karth and getting safely back to Karthwasten. Suddenly, that seemed very easy, compared to what I had been through, what I had done.

"You've done well," said Aileen, as if reading my mind. "Kodlak will be proud when he hears of this."

Fang barked.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go home."

END OF PART TWO

* * *

**A/N: As always, people, please please please review! Coming very soon is part 3: Aela starts learning about the secrets of the Circle...**


	26. Chapter 25 - The Huntsman

PART THREE: DAUGHTER OF THE MOON

Chapter Twenty-Five

I glanced at Skjor, and grinned. "You ready?"

Skjor returned the grin. "Ready."

I straightened up just a little to peer over the heather. Was everyone in position? They'd better be. Just below in the dip between two small hills in the ground, I could see the magnificent herd of elk, fifty or sixty strong, grazing upon the lush Sun's Height grass. The summer sun warmed my back as I looked over the herd, slowly shrugging down my bow from my shoulders, drawing one arrow from my quiver.

Then I straightened abruptly from the heather, aimed, and fired. My arrow thudded into one of the younger elks and he fell dead. At once the herd brayed in alarm and began to stampede.

"Now!" I roared above the tumult, praying that the others would listen.

Skjor and I jumped down from our hiding place and sprinted along the hill's edges. Glancing at Skjor, I saw him put an arrow to the string of his longbow, pause, aim, and fire. The arrow whistled through the air and struck a doe in the leg. She cried out in pain and fell in a cloud of dust. Immediately Skjor drew his dagger and sprang down the hill to field-dress her.

"Ornith!" I bellowed, whipping out another arrow.

The Dunmer straightened from his hiding place further down and shouted, "Now, Vilkas!"

The seventeen-year-old Nord boy straightened up at once, aiming carefully with his bow and arrow, and firing. He struck a half-grown fawn, and Vilkas let out a cry of delight as he watched the young deer fall.

At this, Farkas and Lemaat quickly appeared at the top of the hill, and heaved the boulders they had been carrying down the hill, so they bounded down towards the leader of the herd, who let out a warning call and skidded to a halt, magnificent antlers flashing. The others pushed on, bounding past, but from the smooth grace which they had been running in, they suddenly became broken and uncertain, stumbling here and there.

In the confusion, I caught up to the stragglers, already sprinting. I whipped out an arrow and fired, striking another buck, who fell with a cry cut short. "Lemaat!" I called.

The Redguard drew his scimitar and waited. The tripwire, so cunningly concealed in the grass, did its course. The ones which had drawn in front felt their legs wrenched abruptly from beneath them. Two were felled and Lemaat and Farkas immediately sprang towards them, swords raised. The ones which had not been felled immediately twisted sharply right, veering towards the west.

"Now, Vilkas!" I shouted. Together, standing on opposite sides of the hill, we drew our bows and fired after the herd. Our arrows met their mark in the haunches of the same targeted elk, and unable to run, he collapsed. Vilkas let out another cry of delight at having struck down another.

And then I saw, in the rapidly-retreating herd, the prize of the group. A magnificent black-and-bronze elk, with gigantic antlers, a perfect pair, sprinted to the front of the herd and bounded across the grass with the speed of a swallow. The familiar pangs of the hunt stirred in my veins. There was still time, but I would need all that was offered to me, so I would not lose it.

"Look at how many we bagged!" cried Lemaat in glee.

I turned around at the Redguard's delighted words. The wild hunt was over, and now it was time to rein in the quarries and see how many we had bagged in the short time it had taken to hunt them. Vilkas was quickly field-dressing the wounded elk he and I had caught together, ending its suffering and repeating the prayer to the Father of Manbeasts as I had taught him in respect for it giving up its life for him. Lemaat and Farkas were standing over the two elk which had fallen to the tripwire. Ornith was walking towards the buck near the boulders which I had struck, and the half-grown fawn which Vilkas had brought down himself. The doe and the buck Skjor and I had killed at the beginning of the hunt would be just a little way further.

"We've caught seven," I announced. "Seven's a pretty damned good number for all of you, who have never done as much hunting as I have done. Particularly Farkas and Vilkas." I turned towards the adolescents, who were standing proudly beside their kills. "You've learned very quickly, the pair of you, about traps and springing ambushes."

Vilkas smiled. Farkas blinked, recognized the compliment, and awkwardly grinned.

"Skin the animals like how I showed you and bring in as much meat as you can," I instructed them next. "We'll be eating heartily in Jorrvaskr tonight!"

It took a while to heave the heavy carcasses over towards where I had begun the stampede. Once in the shelter of the hillocks there, everyone set to work. Ornith had picked up the skill of skinning an animal faster than any of my other pupils and very quickly had one of the elk skinned, the meat set to one side, and was helping Farkas with his. Skjor and I helped Lemaat and the twins with the others once we had done our own. In turn, we had massed probably about three thousand gold pieces' worth of hide and meat, depending on how much Hulda was willing to pay me.

Skjor came and stood beside me. "Not too bad for beginners, are they?"

I shrugged. "Hmph. I probably could've got more if we had Fang today."

"Now that dog's getting on in his years," said Skjor. "He's had a good long run. Nearly eight years old, Aileen tells me. I doubt he's going to be chasing after a whole herd of elk at that age."

True, I conceded mentally. I turned to Skjor. "Did you see that handsome black stag at all?"

Skjor shrugged. "Maybe. I climbed up the hill to find the hunt was over before I had really had a chance to take part in it."

"You bagged your own deer. You should be proud," I said to Skjor.

"I never said I wasn't." Skjor grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I'm not going to forget that stag too easily. You up for a bit of night hunting again, old friend?"

Skjor's eye brightened. "You can bet your life on it."

* * *

When we entered Jorrvaskr that evening, with our purses heavy with coin and with plenty of meat for the fires, we noticed immediately that there was general excitement among those who had remained behind from the hunt. Myllasa, Eiwen, Aileen, Derrick, Fang, Orgmund and Samiith were all speaking quietly and excitedly with a pair of –

"Whelps?" Skjor asked in disbelief.

I was startled myself. Since Farkas and Vilkas had turned seventeen and become official whelps of Jorrvaskr, there had been no new whelps, and I had been with the Companions for nearly four years ten months. During that time, apart from the twins coming to reside in the hall, there had been no other new bloods.

Quickly Farkas and Vilkas pushed past us excitedly and hurried down to greet the new bloods. I sent Lemaat and Ornith down to the kitchens with the gathered venison from the great hunt, and then turned puzzled to Skjor. "When did they arrive?"

"Must've come while we were out," Skjor shrugged, as he and I walked down to greet the newest members of the Companions.

They were two Imperials, by the look of them. One of them was small, with short black hair and snapping blue eyes, and a pointed chin. She had a pair of axes fastened to her belt. The other was tall, lean and lanky, with two mismatched eyes, thin hazel-brown hair and large hands. But I couldn't see any weapons on his body.

Samiith turned towards me. "Ah, Companions, you have returned from the hunt," he said, in his husky reptilian hiss. "I trust it fared well?"

"Yes. We made quite a bit of gold from Hulda, and have plenty of meat for the fires tonight." I turned and frowned quizzically at the Imperials. "So who are the whelps?"

"The name's Dasha," said the Imperial woman, in a hard voice that took me by surprise for the briefest of moments. "This is my friend, Patros."

Patros nodded his head briefly at the mention of his name, and shyly knotted his hands behind his back.

"Are you from Cyrodiil?" asked Vilkas.

Dasha turned and frowned at Vilkas. "No. Every Nord in this city has asked us that. Just because we're Imperials doesn't mean we're from Cyrodiil. We weren't even born there."

"So where were you born?" asked Myllasa.

"Hammerfell," replied Dasha, and I saw Myllasa look surprised. "But I was raised far north, in Dragonstar. Patros, on the other hand, was raised in High Rock, in Daggerfall. But we're of the Imperial bloodline, in case that was what you were after."

"When did you come to Skyrim?" asked Eiwen.

"Oh, only last year or so," Dasha replied casually. "Patros and I met one day when I journeyed to Daggerfall. I was a young adventurer then. I met Patros and, well, we kind of decided to go adventuring throughout Tamriel together."

"You were an adventurer?" Farkas sounded surprised.

"Oh, yes," Dasha nodded. "Over the past ten years we've actually been adventuring together. We journeyed through High Rock then through Hammerfell, to Summerset Isles and to Valenwood, Cyrodiil and Elsweyr, Black Marsh to Morrowind, and then finally headed north to Skyrim."

Eiwen's eyes widened. "You've been everywhere!"

Dasha shrugged. "We got around. We found and lost small fortunes, got ourselves caught up in some pretty sticky situations occasionally. Patros and I came to Skyrim and heard about the Companions and, well, we naturally decided to join on with you adventurers to learn about this rugged land from the very best."

I frowned. For some reason, I didn't like this woman.

"You do realize that you join our organization permanently, you don't just come and go at free will," Orgmund said severely. "You stay behind in Jorrvaskr when you're not needed for tasks. If you want to leave the city for any reason, you need the permission from our Harbinger first, or get permission from one of the members of the Circle. That's me, Samiith, Lemaat, and Skjor, who's just returned from hunting." He gestured to Skjor, who nodded to Patros and Dasha.

"Skjor, is it?" Dasha inquired.

"That it is," Skjor replied. "Nice to meet you, Dasha. I hope you find your time with the Companions most enjoyable."

"I think Patros and I will," Dasha replied. She smiled, but I sensed her eyes were cold.

I glanced at Patros. He nodded and smiled shyly at me, but he didn't speak. I glanced at Dasha questioningly, and she shrugged and replied, "He doesn't talk. Just doesn't. You ask him something, he won't reply. So I speak for him. You got a question that concerns Patros, you speak to me first."

I frowned. I really didn't like the way that Dasha spoke. Why was I so hostile to her? Was I challenged?

A moment later, I heard Lemaat and Ornith returning.

"Who are these two Shield-Brothers?" asked Dasha, flicking a strand of black hair behind her ear.

"This is Ornith and Lemaat," Myllasa introduced. "They've both been with the company of the Companions for many years. Lemaat's my brother, actually."

"New bloods!" Lemaat sounded eager, though I could still detect a touch of his usual arrogance in his voice. "Ah, good. Some of the beds in Jorrvaskr's undercroft have been empty for too long."

"And so we're here to fill them," Dasha said. Patros nodded.

Lemaat took a step forward. "But you should know this quickly, new bloods," said the Redguard warrior. "You annoy the wrong people – that is, the members of the Circle, such as myself – and bad things happen."

"What kind of bad things?" asked Dasha.

"Best you didn't know until the time you do annoy a member of the Circle," replied Lemaat, with a wink.

Dasha folded her arms. "I think I'd like to know now."

I was stunned at her...impertinence, maybe? Arrogance? Or...something else which I couldn't quite name. But I saw Skjor suddenly stiffen beside me, and Samiith look worried for a moment, and Orgmund's face darken. Lemaat frowned, his cheerfulness gone.

"The thing is, whelp, you won't know now, or tomorrow, and hopefully not ever," Lemaat growled. "And I'd advise you to put your head back in your shell before I get angry."

"Relax, brother," Myllasa said sternly, gently putting her hand on her brother's shoulder. Turning back to Dasha, she said, "Just ignore Lemaat when he gets as prissy as a peacock. He won't mean you any harm."

"Glad to hear it." Dasha's voice, to my surprise, was cold.

She turned to Ornith. "And who might you be, Shield-Brother?"

"The name's Ornith," replied the Dunmer. "It's nice to meet some new blood in Jorrvaskr for a change."

Dasha nodded. "Likewise."

"Come," Eiwen invited. "Aileen and I can help you both settled in, if you like. You can tell us about some of your adventures tonight at the table."

I watched as Aileen and Eiwen and the new whelps walked off towards the undercroft, Fang trotting loyally behind them, and the rest of us returned to our business. I immediately turned to Skjor and muttered, "I don't like them. Well, Dasha, at least."

Skjor chuckled. "I know."

"You could see it?" I asked drily.

"I can read you like a book, Aela." Skjor turned to face me. "But hey, new blood in Jorrvaskr is something we haven't seen for quite a while. Not since you arrived suddenly and unexpectedly in Whiterun."

"And the twins?"

"They came to Jorrvaskr a few years before they could even begin training," Skjor replied. "Doesn't have quite the same suddenness and unexpectedness, if you get used to them first."

"I suppose." I frowned. "I don't like Dasha. It's her...attitude, I think. Maybe all Imperials speak with such confidence and arrogance and all."

"So she's headstrong. Sound familiar?"

"Shut up."

Skjor softly chuckled. "Still up for the hunt tonight?"

"You bet." My mind hadn't drifted far from the black stag. I pictured myself walking into Jorrvaskr the following morning with those magnificent antlers in my arms, and showing them in front of Dasha, perhaps mounting them in Jorrvaskr as a fine trophy. Or maybe mounting them on Skjor's head. Hmm, a possibility, though I think I'd much rather them on the wall.

That night, we sat around the table in Jorrvaskr and Kodlak rose from his chair and welcomed Dasha and Patos into Jorrvaskr. We all cried "Welcome!" and drunk, and then Kodlak congratulated the magnificent hunt that I had led with some of the Companions that evening. I couldn't resist glancing at Dasha to see how the Imperial considered the news of my success. I saw her glance towards me, and a thoughtful gleam flickered in her blue eyes.

Patos just looked contented as he sat at the table, drinking and eating merrily, though he didn't speak and he didn't sing. Nor did Dasha. She smiled and listened politely and fed. But she didn't join in with the singing either. I noticed this with some contempt. Either she didn't know traditional Nordic bard songs or she didn't want to sing. Not a popular way to begin life amongst the Companions, I smiled to myself, as I watched Samiith and Orgmund lead a rousing chorus of The Dragonborn Comes and everyone around the table joined in – except for the two newcomers.

"Bit quiet, aren't they?" I remarked off-handedly to Eiwen.

The Bosmer shrugged. "They probably don't know Nordic songs. But they'll catch on soon enough. Orgmund's getting pretty hung over."

I grinned. Nearly five years of being with the Companions immediately informed me that when Orgmund had one too many mugs of mead in him, anything could happen. And – yep, anything happened. To the laughter of the gathered Companions, he climbed up on the table, and pulled up Aileen who sat nearby, and they danced a slow waltz on the table, kicking cutlery everywhere as everyone clapped rhythmically. I flashed a glance at Dasha as a finally incoherent Orgmund stumbled down from the table and Aileen helped him back into his seat. While we laughed, Dasha leaned forward and muttered something to Patros, who nodded, but didn't speak.

I frowned, lowering my hands. What was up with the two Imperials?

Then soon everyone began drifting off to bed. Farkas and Vilkas kindly offered to show the new whelps down to the undercroft. Dasha and Patos went with the younger whelps. Soon Kodlak and Samiith went off to the undercroft together, discussing something in undertones. The Breton siblings each took an arm under Orgmund and helped him to his feet and to his room, with Fang trotting behind, until soon only Eiwen, Skjor and I were left at the table.

The Bosmer turned to me. "Planning to do some night hunting again?"

I smiled. "How did you guess?"

"I've known you too long, old friend." Eiwen chuckled. "And we thought you had got enough hunting today."

"Not quite." I turned to Skjor, who rose in turn from the table. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Skjor grinned.

I stood up from the table. "I'll see you soon, Eiwen. Let me know if anything happens while I'm away."

"Concerning the Imperials or Orgmund?" Eiwen grinned.

I paused, considering. "Both," I decided at last. I turned to Skjor. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

We came to the place where we had been hunting earlier. I crouched down, finding the tracks easily amongst the grass. Tonight was another clear summer's night and with two bright moons glowing above us, it was a wonderful night for hunting.

"They went northward, by the looks of it," Skjor commented. I straightened to see Skjor peering out across the landscape. "Probably heading towards Fort Greymoor, and the fields surrounding the old ruin."

"Looks like that's our destination, then." I straightened my bow. "Come on. I want to catch that stag before some other hunter gains the advantage."

"Would this 'other hunter' be me, perhaps?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps. Then again, my old mentor Panjor had a knack for finding quarries with his friends," I replied. "He'd always disappear off at a moment's notice and return from one day to one week to even one _month_ later."

Skjor looked vaguely interested. "You know where he goes?"

I shrugged. "All over the place. He goes with friends. They find big quarries and big targets all around Skyrim. He makes quite the income; as you may have noticed, he gifted me several times. I really enjoyed learning from him. He was with me since...well, since I was six."

Skjor softly laughed. "And you're afraid he's going to start stealing your quarries?"

"Why not? We squabbled over the slightest thing that arose between us," I replied. "And his friends will have noticed the big deer herds by now. Undoubtedly they'd be hunting tonight. They'll have spotted the big stag and be after him as well."

I lengthened my stride, a feeling of competitiveness washing over me suddenly. "Come on! I can almost see that stag now. And I'm not letting Panjor get those antlers before I do."

Soon we were running across the grass, occasionally pausing to read hours-old tracks in the grass, straightening up and hurrying onward again. More often than not, the tracks doubled back on themselves. Soon we paused and looked around – and I heard a soft wolf's call echo dismally over the Hold.

"Wolves," I breathed.

Skjor was quiet. I glanced at him, to see him listening intently, almost fearfully.

"Wolves," he agreed after a while.

I snorted. "Obviously. What else did you think they were?"

"Never mind." Skjor quickly walked past me. "They sound pretty far off."

"But we can follow the wolves," I added, catching up to him. "They're hunting the elk herd as well. They can lead us straight to them."

Even so, though it had been many years – nearly seven, I recall – since I had been ambushed and almost killed by wolves, I felt a slight shudder of apprehension pass through me. I had killed wolves many times before, as well as a variety of other creatures, for the Companions. I had killed two Briarhearts single-handedly and two with help, and a large number of Forsworn. And yet I was always slightly nervous whenever I heard the wolf cry when I was in the middle of Whiterun Hold late at night, knowing that the pair of us were hunting.

Skjor glanced back at me. "You okay?"

"Of course!" I straightened up quickly, hiding whatever fear I had been feeling. The last thing I needed was Skjor worrying over me about a few wolves. But I guessed he already knew. His eye darted down briefly to the scars on my arm, and then darted away again.

The wolf calls were steadily growing louder, though we couldn't see anything yet. And then I heard an elk let out a honking bray, suddenly quite close. I immediately dropped down, as did Skjor, falling lightly on our hands and our feet so as not to let our armour clatter noisily against the firm summer-baked ground. On all fours we crept through the long grasses. Skjor put his head up slightly.

"They're just near the stream," he murmured.

I put my head up above the grass to see that he was right. Dark shapes and the spiky outline of antlers moved against the distant purple line of mountains, and the indigo of the night sky. "You're right about that. Any chance of seeing the big black one, Eagle-Eye?"

Skjor frowned. "Nope. But I can sure as Oblivion smell it."

I glanced around at Skjor. "What—?"

A strange light was gleaming in Skjor's eye. "Follow me!" He slipped into the grasses. Puzzled, but also a touch excited, as Skjor wasn't exactly the person who struck me as a lying sort, I followed him.

We crept up to the stream and slipped into a large clump of heather that was growing nearby. Then we peeked cautiously through the knotted branches and stems and observed the enormous herd of elk, grazing and resting in the grasslands of Whiterun Hold. "Look northwest; you can see the antler crown just there, above the others," whispered Skjor.

I did as he asked, and was both surprised and excited when I could definitely see the massive matching pair of antlers suddenly move. The stag trotted through his herd, brushing against does and bucks alike, heading towards the outskirts.

"Perfect." Skjor glanced at me. "He's heading towards the grasses nearby. A perfect shot."

I glared at him. "Since when did you become master hunter out here? I thought we agreed a long time ago that when we're hunting, I'm the boss."

Skjor grinned at me. "As you say so."

The stag shouldered its way between a pair of bucks and headed lightly over towards the grass patch Skjor had indicated. As slowly as I dared to, I shrugged the bow down from my shoulders, taking care not to rattle the heather. As a passing breeze skated lightly over the plains, making the heather branches rustle even more, I took the advantage to pull the bow completely down, the movement of the bow hitting the heather branches completely concealed by the breeze. The stag paused, lifting its head. Outlined in the twin moons which gleamed just above, sharply displaying the two incredible antlers, he looked quite the sight. Then he bent his head and began to graze.

"Perfect," I breathed. Very slowly, I pulled out an arrow, and knocked it to the bowstring.

The stag suddenly jerked his head up. I held my breath in surprise. The keen eyes flashed all around the heather. The ears swished forward. Had it spotted me? Had it heard me? Neither Skjor nor I made any sound. We didn't move any muscle.

And then the stag slowly lowered its head. I quietly exhaled. I knew its guard was up, however, though how it managed to vaguely detect me would be a mystery. The breeze wasn't carrying my scent towards him. It was blowing straight westward, carrying both our scents away from us. And the heather flowers' sickly sweet scents would mask that of Nords.

I glanced at Skjor. He was ready. He, too, had his longbow drawn and the arrow knocked to the twine, ready to release, though for a moment I was suddenly doubtful. Skjor wasn't one to use bows and arrows, despite being a hunter himself. I had tutored him since we returned from the Reach and the Forsworn uprising quelled once again, and he had definitely improved.

The heather branches were too knotted for a clean shot. I'd have to stand and release. I waited for another moment. And then I leapt up from the heather and fired.

In that same moment the stag heard the heather rustle. He instantly leapt away without even lifting his head to check for danger first. The speed at which he moved was incredible; my arrow thudded into the ground. I had missed! And then the stag was away, bounding across the grass with irresistible grace. Skjor straightened and fired far too late. The arrow sang and thudded into the ground just behind the black stag. He brayed in terror, alarming the rest of the herd, which began to immediately stampede.

Anger shot through me. I wasn't going to lose this stag so easily! As he ran, I ran also. I sprinted as hard as I could go, adrenalin pulsing through me. Skjor let out a shout but I didn't hear; blood was roaring in my ears.

The stag pounded over the ground. I knew that he had greater stamina. He could easily outrun me. But suddenly my eyes found a place where I knew instinctively where he would run. And where I could attack from above. I raced towards the hill, veering sharply to the left. The deer herd raced around the rise, the stag bringing up the rear.

In three swift bounds I had leapt to the top of the hill, and without hesitating, without even thinking, I pushed myself off.

The black stag's back revealed itself to me as I descended. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I saw the panicked gleam in his eyes, his snort of agitation, my hands reaching down towards his throat. And then I had crashed down onto his broad back and seized the thick fur around his throat. He let out a startled snort, staggering a little, but still moving. And now he was starting to buck like crazy, leaping straight up into the air, the head jerking back, the antlers slamming painfully into my face and my arms.

"Gods—curse—you!" I gasped out, my bow slipping from my hand. Immediately my hand went to my dagger. I dragged it out, throwing my weight to one side as I did so. The stag slipped on the uneven ground and fell in a whirl of dust and razor-sharp hooves. I let out a startled cry as I felt all of his weight pin my right leg beneath him, forcing me down. The stag squealed and snorted, trying desperately to regain his footing. But my hand still gripped the dagger. I wrapped my left arm beneath its chin and forced its head upwards, the antlers brushing against my cheeks and ripping through my hair. With dagger in hand, I managed to slice across his throat, just beneath the jawbone.

The stag gasped, his movements becoming jerky and awkward. His head slumped, and thudded onto the ground, in a clattering of antlers. Then he let out one last husky breath and lay still.

"Aela!" I heard Skjor shout.

He appeared above the rise, and then appeared too breathless and awed to speak.

"A little help here and now would be useful," I shouted irritably to him. My right leg was seriously beginning to throb now, and the stag was much too heavy to push off on my own.

Quickly Skjor clambered down the slope, and seized the dead stag's shoulders, and heaved his weight back. I dragged myself out from beneath his weight. My right leg throbbed with pain.

"You all right?" Skjor asked, the moment he dropped the stag back to the ground. "Your leg isn't broken, is it?"

"I don't know yet," I snapped. Skjor helped me up, and gingerly I tested my weight on the leg, relieved when it would hold. "Not broken," I replied, more calmly. "Just sore."

Skjor softly whistled. "Damn, Aela; I think 'reckless' to describe you is an understatement." His eye travelled slowly to the slumped body of the dead black-and-bronze stag. "Shor's bones, look at that pelt! The antlers!"

I grinned. "My best kill yet. Ooh, wouldn't Panjor just be having pink mammoths by now if he could see this."

We walked slowly around to the front of the stag. "He's absolutely fantastic," I breathed, as I crouched down near his head, my hands slowly tracing the huge antlers. They were a perfect match. Nothing could compare to them. They would be priceless at the market. And the glossiness of his hide would make another small fortune there and then.

I sheathed my dagger and drew my skinning knife. "So, shall we begin?"

Skjor nodded, kneeling down near the stag's legs, drawing his own skinning knife. "You work on getting those crown jewels off his head. I'll start on the hide."

Nodding, I leaned forward, grasping the root of one of the antlers. But before I could begin, the most remarkable thing began to happen.

The stag's form shimmered. The fur grew glossier, and almost moved. I saw shadows play over the stag's dead body. With a startled yelp I fell backward, as did Skjor, backing away from the stag's limp form. "What's going on?" I asked, as the shimmering grew even brighter.

Before Skjor could respond, a sort of pale misty substance suddenly flowed out from every inch of the dead stag. It floated upwards from the stag, and began to shiver and take shape, as misty and yet as solid as smoke. And then it fell down from above the stag, landing lightly on the ground on four cloven hooves, now soft and transparent as faint morning mist. It had taken the shape of the great stag which I had just killed.

I stared, completely speechless, at the ectoplasmic stag. Was this the deceased prize's spirit?

The ghost stag took a few steps forward, making no sound, and lifted its great head, the massive crown of antlers gleaming upon its brow. Large, pale eyes focused upon me, and suddenly I heard a voice echo through my mind.

_Good hunting._

I stared, not sure what to say. Had it just...spoken to me?

_For a long time I have watched you hunt,_ the stag continued. _You have added many to my Hunting Grounds. I have observed with considerable interest, and you now have won my favour for your endless labours to me._

I wanted to speak. But it felt as if my tongue was frozen to the roof of my mouth.

_You know,_ the stag went on, _I sent this fine beast into the wilderness around the city of Whiterun, to see if you would discover him, and end his life in the way of the hunter._ The ghostly head turned slightly towards the dark, dead corpse of the stag, lying completely motionless in the grass, and then the pale wispy eyes turned back to me. _I am pleased, very pleased, mortal, to see that you have accomplished this informal task for me. You are a true huntress, and rightly call yourself thus._

The stag suddenly bowed its smoky, whitish head to me. _For your troubles, you have earned my blessing, huntress, a feat that few accomplish in their time upon Mundus. The blessing of the hunt shall last upon you forever, as long as you pledge your prayers to me. Forever you shall find fair fortune in whatever your arrow strikes, that the trophies you wield shall bring prosperous wealth, that the tracks of all creatures suddenly reveal themselves to you, in places most unexpected. That should you hunt under the twin lights of Masser and Secunda, you will always find me smiling upon your hunting._

I looked slowly up towards the sky. The twin moons, Masser and Secunda, looked down upon me, and I swear that I felt a new energy tingling in the moonshine, one I had never detected before. Turning back to the stag, I heard the strange voice whisper in my mind one last time.

_I leave you, mortal, with this. Wear it while you hunt, and your arrow shall never miss what your heart's desire lies upon. Good hunting!_

And then the stag dissipated before me. Exploded into pale white smoke, and then shot up towards the stars as strands of wisp.

A sharp gleam caught my eye. Something fell to the ground amongst the grass. As I bent down and picked it up, the light of the twin moons caught upon what I held in my hands.

It was a necklace, made out of very fine chain-linked metal. The craftsmanship on it was incredible; the ringlets were so tiny that no smithy could ever hope to forge it. At the end of the necklace was a bronze token. As I held it between my fingers and looked at it more carefully, I realized it was a wolf's head.

"Aela..."

I looked up sharply. I realized that Skjor's face was very pale, tightly drawn, both eyes round. Even his blind eye was displaying shock.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you even realize what just happened?"

"Uh...not really. Except that...the stag's ghost appeared..."

"That wasn't a ghost." Skjor shook his head, disbelieving. "It couldn't have been any ghost. Did it speak to you?"

I nodded.

"What did it say?" Skjor's voice was hoarse now.

"Uh...it said that I was a good huntress," I said. "And...something about a blessing. That I would always be blessed by...whatever that was...when I hunted. And that if I wore this—" I held up the amulet "—my arrows would never miss whatever my heart's desire lay upon...Skjor, are you okay?"

Skjor was staring at me. His face was as pale as moonlight.

"Care to tell me what in Oblivion is going on?" I frowned, taking a step towards him. "What was that thing? Why did it give me a blessing?"

Skjor slowly shook his head. "Kodlak," he murmured. "Kodlak and the others need to hear of this immediately."

"Why does it concern the Harbinger?" I felt as if there would be no end to the questions.

"Trust me," Skjor said, as he knelt down beside the stag and began to skin it. "You'll understand soon enough. Hurry up and get those antlers off. We're heading to Jorrvaskr as soon as we're done here."

"To see Kodlak, I presume?" I demanded, as I slung the amulet around my neck. As the small wolf's head touched my chest, I felt a strange shiver of energy pass through me.

"Of course. And everyone else. The members of the Circle."

"Skjor, in case you've noticed, it's night. They'll all be asleep." I grasped the antlers and began to cut.

"No. They won't be sleeping." Skjor glanced at me, and I was startled to see such earnestness glitter in his eye. "I can promise you that. They'll have felt it."

"Felt what?"

"I can't tell you. Not now, at least. But everything will be answered soon enough."

* * *

**A/N: Everyone knows who that apparition was, don't you? Everything will be answered for Aela, all right. Please leave a review while I hurry up and write chapter twenty-six, I want to know how well I wrote this chapter.  
**

**For interest, some of you may want to consider going back to check chapter ten, and the prophecy Olava cast upon Aela. It's going to have a lot more reference now in this story. I'm pretty sure you can guess who the Father is. :)  
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	27. Chapter 26 - The Unexpected Truth

**A/N: Yay! Got this up very quickly after chapter twenty-five. Read on and enjoy! Chapter twenty-seven going to come out just as quickly!**

**I want to say here and now that thanks everyone who has viewed The Huntress. I've now got over 1400 views in just over a week, and to all those who have reviewed, I say a really big thank you. It's really motivated me to keep writing and giving out to you guys!  
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* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

I don't know how Skjor knew, but he was right. The moment that we walked in Jorrvaskr, every single member of the Circle was there. They stood near the fire, and seemed to expect us as we walked in.

"What has happened?" Samiith asked urgently.

"There was no mistaking it," Orgmund agreed. His arms were tightly folded over his chest.

"Look, I have no idea what's going on, but would someone please explain to me what _is_ going on?" I asked, almost irritably.

Kodlak frowned, troubled. "You hunted again tonight," he said. "And you bring back magnificent prizes for your efforts. It was you, was it not, who earned his blessing?"

"Whose blessing?" I asked quickly.

And that's when I saw the change.

Their eyes.

All of their eyes were bronze. Shimmering bronze, outlined by the firelight that glowed behind them. I stopped out of shock, and out of horror.

"What's...going on?" I asked slowly.

Lemaat turned sharply to Skjor. "Secure the door."

As Skjor turned and walked away, I glanced at his face. A cold feeling settled into my stomach when I saw that his good eye was also bronze.

What was happening? Fear was starting to crawl through me. Uncertainly I took a step backwards, and immediately Kodlak said, "Easy, Aela. You do not understand."

"I'm not sure I want to," I responded.

"You're going to understand, whether you want to or not," said Lemaat quietly. "Put down the antlers and the hide. Mustn't risk damaging such valuable items."

Something clicked into place behind me. I whipped around. Skjor had bolted and locked the doors to Jorrvaskr, and now he turned back to me. I had a sudden feeling that I was trapped. That I had walked, once more, willingly into one.

"Relax, Aela," Skjor said, as he came to me and took the antlers and hide from my arms. "Nothing is going to hurt you."

As Skjor took the hide and antlers, I suddenly heard Lemaat gasp with shock. Glancing uncertainly back towards the Redguard, I saw his eerie bronze eyes fixed upon my chest, upon my amulet. "Brothers, look!" he whispered. "She wears it. She wears the mark of our Lord."

"So it's true." Samiith's gaze travelled slowly to me. "Our Lord did speak to you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my anxiety growing. Quickly I grasped the end of the amulet, hiding the wolf's head from view. "What's gotten into all of you? Kodlak...?" Helplessly I turned towards my Harbinger. His eyes were a shimmering bronze as were the rest of the members of the Circle's eyes.

"Don't tell her!" Orgmund said suddenly, whipping around to face Kodlak. "She is not one of us. She could easily have betrayed us! Do not forget what she did to me!"

I glared at Orgmund. "I still don't know what I did to you. Are you talking about the silver arrows again?"

Nearly five years later, and they still hadn't dropped the matter.

"You're damned right I'm talking about the silver arrows," Orgmund snarled, and I felt alarm shoot through me as I realized...his voice had changed. Darkened, and become almost...feral. His bronze eyes glowed. "If you had any idea what silver does..."

"I don't have any idea, so why don't you tell me?" I fired back instantly.

Kodlak suddenly sighed. "Brother, peace," he said to Orgmund, almost wearily. The Harbinger rested a hand on Orgmund's shoulder. "It is time, I think, for her to understand."

Orgmund frowned. "She isn't one of us. She could be one of them. The arrows, Harbinger! It's hardly a coincidence!"

"No, it's not, but I don't think she is one of them," Kodlak said, turning back towards me. "And she has understood too much. She has had the blessing of our Lord. There can be no clearer sign that she is meant to be one of us."

The Harbinger turned back to me. "Aela, for us to finally reveal the truth to you, you must come with us."

I frowned, to hide the fear. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing, yet," Kodlak responded. "Except finally tell you everything. Why we had to rid you of your silver arrows. Why we were so concerned when you first offered yourself to us." His arms swept wide, to indicate all members of the Circle. "And what we are."

"Please, Aela," said Skjor beside me. I glanced at him, feeling goosebumps prickle through my skin as I looked into his bronze eye. "You must trust us. We will do no harm to you."

I stared at him. "You think that I can...I can trust you? You've been hiding something from me." Angrily I turned to all members of the Circle. "You've _all_ been hiding the truth from me!"

"It is necessary," Kodlak said. "If you do not have the condition, you must not know. Anything can happen here. If our whelps knew, they would panic. They would grow afraid. They may leave. They may even tell our secrets to ears that must not hear them."

"And why are you saying I won't?" I demanded.

"Because you will not. But we must speak to you in the Underforge. That is the only place where we will be safe to speak to one another." Kodlak turned and began to head towards the back doors. Wordlessly, the members of the Circle began to file after him.

Skjor gave me a nudge. "Follow them," he urged me.

I glanced at him, at his bronze eye, and whispered, "Skjor—"

"_Follow them_," Skjor repeated, almost desperately. "Everything will be made clear to you now. I promise."

* * *

The moment I entered the Underforge for the first time, my life changed forever.

The Underforge was located through a secret entrance, engraved in the stone beneath the Skyforge itself. And though there seemed to be no windows, light slowly trickled into this dark place. Soft, pale mist floated up from the floor, giving the room a haunted, eerie look. The moment Skjor and I walked in, the heavy stone door shifted shut behind me, sealing us within.

There was a large stone altar in the centre of the Underforge. Smaller stone altars surrounded it in a wide ring. A passage veered off deeper into the Underforge, though where it led, I wasn't sure, and I didn't care. I looked forward, my heart pounding wildly in my throat. My Harbinger, and all the members of the Circle – save Skjor, who was beside me – were gathered solemnly around the large altar. The bronze in their eyes glittered more sharply.

"This is the Underforge," Kodlak solemnly announced. "Where the truth about us will finally be revealed to you."

He turned to me suddenly. "And do not think of drawing weapons here. To do so will be at your own peril."

My fear intensified, but all I said was, "Why would I ever draw weapons against my own Shield-Brothers?"

Kodlak looked grave. "Because you may do so out of terror."

He turned suddenly to Skjor. "Reveal yourself, brother. You are the one that she trusts the most."

I glanced anxiously at Skjor. "What does he mean?"

Skjor simply looked at me. His face was earnest and grey, and even solemn. "Everything will be revealed to you, sister. But please – do not strike me."

Before I could ask what he meant, Skjor stepped back. And suddenly, the bronze in his eye became as bright as fire.

He half-hunched. His limbs grew rigid and jerked uncontrollably. A horrible sound filled the chamber, and I found myself stepping away suddenly from Skjor, as the truth emerged.

His skin darkened. Fur sprouted from his skin. His fingers lengthened, the nails becoming great black claws. His face elongated. He grew in size. His whole body suddenly became black, thick fur sprouting everywhere, what skin could be seen becoming grey as stone. And then he reared, the transformation complete, and a ghastly sound, a roar and a bark mingled into one deathly sound, filled the Underforge.

I had heard the sounds before. In a flash, the memory of a hunt late at night, the same night that Skjor was first accepted into the Circle, of a massive black beast like a monstrous wolf, sprinting with shocking speed across the grasslands, of tearing into an elk, devouring it, tearing it limb from limb and screaming a cry to the twin moons high above...and then four more coming to join it, raising their voices in unison, sprinting across the grasslands, vanishing...

Vanishing...

I began to tremble. "Gods..." I breathed.

"Aela, I'm sorry." Skjor's voice echoed strangely from the beast that stood in his place. The creature's lips did not move, and yet his voice emerged from within. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you before. But I couldn't have told you. Not until the time was right. My Lord requested that my lips are sealed."

"But we're meant to be siblings, Skjor," I croaked. I couldn't let my gaze leave the creature that crouched before me. "We aren't meant to hide anything. We're meant to be a family."

I turned to the rest of the Circle. I saw the bronze in their eyes. And I suddenly understood.

"You're all like him," I whispered.

Slowly, they nodded.

"What are you?" I asked, my voice flat, toneless, to hide my terror.

"We are His Hounds," said Kodlak. His gaze brightened. "We are bound forever into the eternal service of our Lord. It was he who first bestowed this change upon us. Werewolves, most call us, if they ever have the misfortune of laying eye upon us."

Werewolves... "I thought they were only in story," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Only something to keep you from leaving the house at night."

"I assure you, we exist," Orgmund said. "And we have existed, ever since Terrfyg – one of the earlier members of the Companions, once the Harbinger hundreds of years ago."

"Since Terrfyg, it is by pact of blood that the members of the Circle accept the ways of the beast – of the werewolf," Samiith continued, his slender tail flicking with agitation. "We keep this affliction secret. If word were to spread beyond Jorrvaskr of our...blessing...then there would be panic. Jorrvaskr would be destroyed, the people would fear us."

"And why shouldn't they?" In a flash, I remembered the night at Bleak Falls Barrow. Of the carnage Skjor and I had discovered there. "I know of what you're capable of. We saw it together." I turned my eyes back to Skjor, who flattened his ears, and then back to the Circle. "You never really sent people out to follow the tracks, did you?"

Kodlak shook his head. "Those tracks, you see, were made by one of us. By knowing that the beast walks amongst the Circle, there is no need to pursue him." He met my gaze steadily. I forced myself not to flinch as I stared into his bronze eyes. "And unlike feral werewolves, we choose to accept the gift. We have control over ourselves. We know how to act and how to behave. We keep our heads and our minds whenever we transform."

Kodlak flashed a glance at Orgmund. "Most of the time."

"It's not my fault." Orgmund's voice was quiet but determined, absolutely certain. "The urges are growing stronger. They have been over the past few years. I don't have as much control over myself as I used to. And when I do succumb...the Bloodlust urges me forward."

I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Orgmund's bronze gaze darkened. "What I mean is that I hunger for blood. I thirst for it more than anything else. It's pure desire, pure lust, whispering through every corner of your mind, controlling your every movement. Nothing else can sate it. Nothing else will sate it. And sometimes, I just lose control. When that happens I have to get away from Jorrvaskr and Whiterun, go as far as I can. Sometimes, I can't control myself, and I can no longer tell who is friend and foe."

He closed his eyes. "It grows worse whenever new blood comes to the halls of Jorrvaskr. The younger they are, the stronger the Bloodlust urges me."

My mind flashed back to the two scruffy orphan boys, Farkas and Vilkas, stumbling into Jorrvaskr, at how Orgmund had wanted them to leave, at how Kodlak had warned me to keep them away from Orgmund. I hadn't understood then. Now I did.

"Does it call you now?" I asked quietly.

Orgmund nodded miserably. "I know I shouldn't. But I can't resist. I can't help myself." He looked up towards me. "The carnage that you found in Bleak Falls Barrow...that was my doing. The Bloodlust was too strong for me to resist. I fled Whiterun. I ran south, hoping to sate my hunger with the wilds that the woods of Falkreath offered me. I scrambled up Bleak Falls Barrow and met the bandits and...then they were dead. And I was feasting on their blood."

His gaze intensified. "The Bloodlust returned, stronger than before, when the boys came to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak sensed this, and told me to keep my distance. He made you their protectors. I knew that if I suddenly attacked them in...well, in the form of the wolf...then at least you could try to defend them."

"I couldn't have," I scowled. "You'd have just torn me apart."

"No. I don't think so." Samiith's voice rang out through the chamber now. "Don't you understand? You have always been protected by our Lord. Always. Ever since you first took up your bow, and made your first kill as a young child."

I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Our Lord is the Father of Manbeasts, the Huntsman, Hircine," said Lemaat softly. "And we know that you began to serve him at a young age."

Hircine. The name, hearing it spoken aloud for the first time, sent shock coursing through my veins. The Father of Manbeasts. The great hunter, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt. And I had known. But I had not realized, and not made the connection. Panjor had first spoken of him to me, after I had killed my first bear, taught me the prayer to send their spirits to Hircine's plane of Oblivion, the Hunting Grounds.

"You called yourself Huntress," Samiith hissed. "It was a sign. A clear sign that you were destined to become one of us. But we did not reveal it to anyone. We discussed it, numerous times. And we waited for it to be proven correctly. The way that you hunted was flawless. Nothing else compared to it – another sign that we took into account. Your archery is unmatched by any of our number. You are masterful in every way of the hunt. You see things that others do not. Another sign."

Tracks. He meant tracks. Animal markings.

"We did not want to believe that you had a destiny that intertwined so heavily with our Lord," Lemaat said. "Because only such luck gifted so favourably by Lord Hircine means that you will wield great power. We knew, for a long time, at your success at contracts and your neverending success in hunting, that you were going to become a member of the Circle. What we did not realize was that your time was to have come so soon."

A shiver passed through me. "What are you saying? I'm going to become a member of the Circle, now?"

"Don't you understand? You've already had your Trial," Orgmund said. "Your journey into Markarth. We knew that you were ready then. It was time for your skills as a huntress to be put to the test – and for our suspicions to be proved correct."

"And what suspicions were they?" I demanded.

"That the Huntsman was to always watch over you," Skjor rasped suddenly. I turned back towards where the werewolf stood, his eyes – one silver, and one bronze – fixed upon my own. "We realized it instantly. We gave you the task of finding the Forsworn alone because we knew that if you truly were blessed by Hircine, you would return alive, from whatever you faced. You killed four Briarhearts. They are deadly creatures which few could face, and which you slew like a master. You survived falling over a cliff. You continued to triumph and excel carrying out contracts in Jorrvaskr. It was unmistakable. Hircine had always been watching over you."

"But..." I couldn't even protest.

"And there's another sign." Skjor took one step forward. "I remember, all too clearly, what happened in the Pale. You had not had any sword training in your life. And yet you faced and fought that Bosmer bandit, blade to blade."

"I almost died," I said, almost irritably. "You cut her down when I was about to have my guts torn out."

"But the fact that you stood and you fought and you defended yourself without getting so much a scratch from that Bosmer bandit, was a definite sign," Skjor insisted. "You were weakened when you were struck by an arrow. You staggered. She saw the advantage to knock you over. What would the outcome have been if the arrow had never touched you? You would have thrown her to the ground and ended her life instead."

The blazing sense...that sense that told me only to survive. The sense which had saved my life more times that I could count. The sense that made me forget my pain, and to drive forward, to deliver and to block and to kill. The sense I had first encountered as I fought that Bosmer woman in the snows of the Pale. The sense which I had felt as I fought the Briarhearts and the Forsworn...was that gifted by Hircine as well? Was that another sign?

"And there was one more thing, which at first I didn't understand, but what I've come to realize," Skjor said. "The time when we first met. Out in the fields of Whiterun. When we hunted together, and you said that you were described to be like a she-wolf."

"My mother called me that," I murmured.

"Did she just call you that, though?" Skjor's gaze intensified. "Or does Hircine see you like that as well? You still don't understand, do you?"

I stared. "Are you...are you saying...?"

Skjor nodded his shaggy head. "And now that the Huntsman himself has appeared before you, and blessed you with words, and with that amulet you now wear, it is apparent, and now it has been revealed to you. You must become one of us. It has been your destiny since birth for you to become like us, one of His Hounds. You must embrace the beastblood. You must become a werewolf."

For a moment, silence reigned after his words. And then, slowly, I looked at each of the members of the Circle in turn. At the bronze light in their eyes. At the respect I saw flashing like small fish in their gazes.

I couldn't say anything. I mean, what was there to say?

"You are a huntress," said Kodlak. "You are his huntress; Lord Hircine has selected you to become one of His Hounds, even if he has not spoken of it in words." He nodded towards the amulet. "The token he has given you...I can sense Daedric magic over it. In more ways than one."

"He...the stag spirit...told me that I would never miss a shot, as long as I wore it," I said quietly. "But...is the wolf his symbol? A symbol of...of your kind?"

Kodlak nodded. "One of his symbols. The other is the stag. He is depicted in ancient shrines with the head of a stag, and the body of a man, with a great wolf at his side. The stag is for the hunt. And the wolf is his direct servant. He gave you the amulet as a sign to us, a sign that you at last were ready to embrace the blood of the werewolf, and to become one of His Hounds; you are ready to become a daughter of the moon."


	28. Chapter 27 - Moonborn

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I looked around at the Circle again. At Skjor. At what he had become. And suddenly...my fear disappeared. It was as if I had expected this all along.

"What will happen when I become a werewolf?" I asked.

Kodlak looked surprised at the readiness of my voice. And then he smiled. "You will lose your own blood, probably forever. You will experience at first pain, and you may lose consciousness. The first time that the blood touches your lips, you will immediately transform. The first time, you always go feral, where you lose complete and utter sense of yourself. But that is why we are here. We transform, and we guide you, to keep you away from the innocent people, to get you safely outside into Whiterun Hold where you can hunt to your heart's content, and until the beast tires. You will wake somewhere in the wilderness."

Slowly, I nodded. "So I won't die?"

"No. The transformation is painful but it won't kill you. Not usually, anyway," Lemaat replied. "When you wake, you will be lycanthropic, just like us. And you will discover that many things you thought you knew about yourself have changed."

"In time, you will experience the Bloodlust," Orgmund said. "When it comes, you need to get yourself away from others as quickly as possible, transform, and hunt to sate your thirst. The Bloodlust may or may not come often. Different things for different werewolves causes the Bloodlust to rise. And it is your responsibility to control the Bloodlust."

"And your features will change." Kodlak looked sincerely at me. "It varies for different people. For some, first accepting the beastblood makes them change physically. Our young Taija, when she first became a werewolf, her eyes turned black as coal. And her voice became hoarser. She didn't like to speak too much because of such a noticeable difference."

I remembered Taija, of her dark eyes, her rough voice whenever I had heard her speak. It had been so many years since her death.

"Your senses, even in human form, will become sharper, more acute," Kodlak continued. "You will find you can see farther than ever before, your awareness increased, your sense of smell in particular strengthened by the beastblood, as your hearing. You may also discover your sense of taste changes, too. You may prefer your meat to be bloodier. Surprisingly common for lycanthropes. And you will be bodily stronger. Your stamina increased. Your strength increased."

Slowly, I nodded, taking this all in. No wonder the Circle viewed this as a blessing.

"But there are disadvantages to this, of course," Lemaat pointed out, scowling beneath his Hammerfell veil. "Ever since I became His Hound, I haven't had one night of peace yet."

"Restless sleeping is a part of being a werewolf; your senses sharpen as you rest, and you sleep lightly, disturbed at the slightest of sounds, and dreaming dark dreams you may want to wake up from," Kodlak said heavily. "And on nights when the twin moons are out, you may find it is impossible to sleep at all. The moon has an irresistible effect on us werewolves. The Bloodlust roars in our veins on those nights."

"And the greatest disadvantage. A potential deadly threat." Orgmund scowled. "Silver."

A hush suddenly fell over the Circle.

"The arrows," I murmured, remembering my first day with the Companions in a flash. Of Orgmund's shout of pain when I drove the arrow into his shoulder. His seething anger when he discovered the kind of metal the arrowhead was made of. Kodlak taking my arrows away. My confusion and resentment, and irritation why they would not let the matter drop. It all came surfacing to my mind, as clear as day. "The silver arrows that Panjor gave me. You suffered from them."

Orgmund scowled. "Silver is the only metal that can truly hurt us when we are in wolf forms, and cause agonizing pain on its own when we are ourselves again," he said bitterly. "So I hope you finally understand why I was making 'such a fuss' about the arrows."

"You realize that you could have killed Orgmund," said Lemaat softly.

I glanced at him. "How?"

"Silver is deadly to werewolves," Lemaat told me. "It burns like flame whenever it touches your skin. You can imagine the pain of it spreading through your body and your blood, if an arrowhead stays in your shoulder. The burning, lethal heat of silver may even reach your heart."

"But why does silver even cause such pain to werewolves?" I demanded.

"Silver does havoc to beastblood and all things undead," Kodlak said. "Don't you ever wonder why Eorlund doesn't ever use silver at the Skyforge?"

"_Eorlund_ knows of your affliction?"

Kodlak nodded. "He has been a trusted friend of us for countless years. So we have let him in on our secret. Eorlund is a strong man, a clever man; he knows how to hold his tongue. And he isn't afraid, either. I don't think any Gray-Mane has been afraid of anything since the clan first came to Whiterun."

"Does Vignar know about you?" I asked.

"No other Gray-Mane," replied Kodlak. "Only Eorlund. Because he doesn't spend much time around the Companions, except to temper and craft weapons and armour for us, nobody needs to ask him much about the Companions for daily duties, and the secret is as safe with him as it is with us, if not safer."

His face hardened. "And you, of course, know who exactly killed Taija."

"The Silver Hand." Even after all these years, no member of the Companions had forgotten Taija's killers. Turning to the Harbinger, I said, "Who exactly are they?"

"They are the outsiders who hunt werewolves," said Samiith, scowling bitterly. "They discovered the fatal damage that silver does to werewolves, and so all their damned weapons are made of silver. They're our only mortal enemies."

I frowned, confused. "But if these people, the Silver Hand, know about the Circle's secret, how come you haven't been chased out of Jorrvaskr and Whiterun already?"

"Because the Silver Hand have never been able to prove the fact we are werewolves to the rest of the world," replied Kodlak, with a grim laugh. "We look unrecognizable when we transform. As you may have noticed, Skjor doesn't exactly look like Skjor."

I looked back at the werewolf who crouched near the altar. "Except for his eyes."

"There is that," agreed Lemaat.

"The Silver Hand cannot prove to Skyrim what we are because we look nothing like ourselves when we transform," said Kodlak. "Even if they kill us and sever our heads and walk into Whiterun showing it to people, the townsfolk won't recognize the werewolf head to be one of the trusted members of the Circle. It'll just look like another werewolf head. And we command a lot of respect in Skyrim. To dare accuse the Companions of such a crime of being a werewolf would mean the Silver Hand is run out of town and barred from entering, or imprisoned. So the Silver Hand hunt us in secret."

He frowned. "There are Silver Hand spies everywhere. In the most unlikely of places, of course. That was why there was such trouble when you first came to Jorrvaskr and then fought Orgmund."

"Because I bore silver arrows," I presumed. "You thought I was with the Silver Hand."

"But you have proven to us that you are not," said Samiith. "Over and over again, you proved to us that you were _with_ Hircine, not against him. And now that he has come to you, and given you his blessing directly, and the amulet enchanted with his magic, it is time for you to finally become one of us."

Of course. "So I am to become a werewolf?"

Kodlak nodded. Respectfully, he and the others stepped back, except for Skjor, who strode forward. Lemaat also stayed beside the altar. The Redguard drew his dagger.

"You are to become Moonborn," said Kodlak. I glanced at him, and saw, for a moment, regret flash in his bronze eyes. "A daughter of Hircine, your new Father."

_Father..._

My eyes widened, as suddenly, an old memory returned, playing itself before my eyes. Me crouched before Olava, the soothsayer, her old palms resting upon my shoulders. In a faraway voice she proclaimed my future only once, but the words had never left me.

_I see a great huntress, standing upon the pinnacle. She is alone, a child of the true hunters of this world, a daughter of the moon, promised to the great huntsman. Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch. Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved. Beware the anger that follows, for it will bring naught but grief in the end. In the fires of sorrow the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it._

And then I returned to the present, as I watched Lemaat suddenly seize Skjor's wrist. He pulled the werewolf's arm forward, until it hovered over the altar. Skjor watched Lemaat slightly apprehensively as the Redguard, with his other hand, raised his dagger. In one swift movement, he had sliced a deep gash in Skjor's arm. Dark crimson blood flowed from the wound, dripping into the altar, until there was a dark red pool. Then Skjor tugged his arm free from Lemaat and immediately licked the wound with his tongue.

"Drink, sister." Lemaat stepped back. "Your new life awaits."

I approached the altar. I didn't even realize I was trembling until now. Whether with excitement or with fear, I couldn't decide.

All the Circle were watching me. Skjor lowered his arm and gazed at me with one cloudy grey eye, and one fiery bronze. "I'll see you sooner than you think," he growled, and perhaps he grinned, though it was hard to tell. It just looked as if he was baring his fangs.

"Take off your weapons," advised Kodlak quietly.

I did as my Harbinger bade. I shrugged off my bow, and my quiver of arrows, and took my skinning knife and dagger from my belt. And then I leaned over the altar. The dark pool of red blood seemed to gleam with a strange unholy light.

Wordlessly, I dipped my hands into the pool of blood. I cupped them, and brought the blood up, up to my lips. And then I drank.

My eyes widened. My hands slipped from my sides, and I took a jerky step backward, as pain suddenly lanced through my body. The Companions leapt into action around me. "Get her out of here!" I heard someone yell, though the cry sounded muffled to my ears.

I screamed. Something was happening in my body. Everything was shifting, everything was changing. Everything ached, hurt...my very bones were changing, as was my blood. The heat did not go. I lurched forward abruptly, trembling, every sense darkening...

I lurched forward. I spat up blood. Whether it was my own or not, I couldn't be sure. A strange dark mist was enclosing my sight, my senses _were beginning to awaken at last, at last I have been unleashed!_

I felt the pain intensify. Felt needles prickling every inch of my skin. Felt _the Huntsman call his newest daughter, beckoning me forward into the wonderful prey-filled world beyond this dark and dismal cave._

The Huntsman? He was here?

_He's always here. Embrace me._

Shadows slipped over my vision. I felt myself move, though I had no control. Memories flashed, one by one, before my eyes; hunting, fighting the wolves, hunting, setting a trap, ending the bear's life, whispering a prayer to my new Father, hunting, fighting the Forsworn...

_Embrace me, child..._

Everything vanished in a bright red flash of light, red as blood. And then darkness.

The last thing I heard was an unearthly roar – uttered from my own lips.

* * *

I opened my eyes. Everything was too bright, too sharply-outlined at first, and I blinked a few times, to make sure that the light faded to the correct quality. Which was dim. I became aware at once that I was lying face-forward. And that I wasn't wearing anything.

Grass pricked at my skin. I heard a bird sing nearby. Slowly, stiffly, I lifted my head, feeling dull aches rush up and down my body. I looked around at my surroundings. All around me was long grass, damp with morning dew, pressing against my body. Above me, trees loomed, their branches lightly rattled by a calm dawn breeze. I heard a bird sing again, a shrill, chirping melody that made me lift my head higher in wonder.

Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position, folding my arms tightly over my chest, and tucking my legs tightly to my body. I didn't feel cold, and almost felt peaceful, not wearing any armour.

What had happened again last night? I frowned, trying to remember.

Oh, yes. Now I did. In a kind of daze, I looked at my skin, at my hands. I pulled a strand of hair down to inspect it. Yes, it was still russet red. I felt my face. I could still feel the smoothness of the evergreen warpaint. And then I became aware that I was still wearing something.

The amulet. Hircine's amulet. I looked down at it, and picked up the small wolf's head on the end of the pale silver chain, and looked at it. So it hadn't been a wild dream. I hadn't had a bad hangover. I really had become one of them.

"Aela!"

I looked up sharply as I heard my name called through the forest. A startled flock of birds above me took flight. I recognized Skjor's voice.

"Aela!" he called again.

I was about to respond, when I reminded myself that I didn't have anything on. He sounded as if he was coming closer. Quickly I looked around. Spotting an ideal-looking clump of ferns, I hurried towards them, and crouched down just behind them, at the same time I heard Skjor push his way through the trees, calling my name again, emerging into the clearing.

Oh, thank the Gods. He wasn't some hideous monster. He was himself again.

"Aela!" he shouted.

I put my head up above the ferns. "Over here," I said.

Skjor turned towards me. Relief was evident in his face. "Thank Hircine you're awake," he said, staring to approach me. I noticed that he was holding some clothes beneath one arm.

"Just stop where you are," I said, a bit shortly, not prepared for him to come that close to the ferns. "And pass the clothes over."

Skjor paused, and then he softly laughed. "Ah, yes. I thought you'd need these."

"Shut up and hand them over," I snapped.

"All right, all right, no need to get feisty." Skjor lightly tossed me the clothes, which I quickly caught and ducked down behind the ferns. I recognized them to be one of my old changes of clothes. He must have taken them out of my chest in the whelps' room. Quickly I changed, pulling the fabric over my body, and made sure they fitted perfectly well before I straightened and walked back around the ferns.

"Pity," commented Skjor. "I wonder what it would have been like if you'd come back to Jorrvaskr, and I had forgotten to bring with me your garments."

I glared at him. "Say that again, and this time, I won't hesitate to bite."

Skjor's eye brightened. "So you remember now?"

I nodded. "At least...some of it. What happened?"

"What happened is that you've been born into the pack, sister," Skjor said. He smiled; a warm kind of smile, with the same slightly-pointed teeth, but one I suddenly found more...satisfying. As if this was a smile that I had always enjoyed. "You're one of us now. Moonborn."

"Moonborn." I echoed the word in wonder. I glanced at Skjor. "Anything changed? I don't have black eyes, do I? They'd look terrible with my hair."

"Nope. Still the plain old silver. But now it looks like the silver in your eyes has been polished. Permanently." Skjor turned to me, and asked, "How do you feel? Woozy?"

"A little. But it's disappearing fast."

"And your senses?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your senses always haven't been like this," Skjor reminded me.

I was puzzled. Hadn't I always been able to pick up so many fragrant scents, to hear the footsteps of mice some yards away, to hear the cry of a hawk many miles over the hills? Hadn't the colours always looked this bright? The ground was pleasantly soft beneath my bare feet; hadn't I always been able to pick up the soft vibrations running within?

"You've forgotten what your senses were like before you took the change," said Skjor. "But you still need to learn how to adapt to the senses you have now. You've become a true hunter of this world, Aela. One of Hircine's wolves."

I looked around. "Where...exactly are we?"

"Falkreath. The moment we got you out from the Underforge and into the wilds of Skyrim you immediately headed south to the forest – after promptly executing a lot of elk along the way through Whiterun Hold," Skjor said. "Don't you remember a thing? Good. It shows that you were already changing."

"All I remember was hearing a noise, something like a roar, and then waking up here," I said.

"And that means your transformation is complete." Skjor nodded, sounding satisfied. "You've become one of us now, Aela. A true huntress."

"Does this mean I'm a member of the Circle now?" I asked.

"Oh, definitely. We just need to perform the ceremony. You know, the formal acceptance, so the rest of the Companions understand," Skjor replied.

Slowly we passed through the forests, finding the road shortly after. As we headed towards Riverwood, I asked Skjor, "What does this mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"Being a werewolf. How can I control it?"

"You have total control over your transformations now," said Skjor. "You're still adapting to being one of us, so it'll take a day or two before you can call on it again. It'll take several years, so Samiith says, before you'll be able to call on the form of the wolf at will, without limit."

"And how do I call on it?"

"Simple. You just will yourself to change. Same thing to do the other way around."

"And...I'll keep my head when I transform, right?"

Skjor nodded. "Don't worry. I've been a werewolf for four years and I've barely had any trouble with controlling my Bloodlust. What we also use our blessing for is when we're in a sticky situation, and we need a bit of extra power...and fear. Most can't stand the sight of glory revealed to them." He grinned. "I hope you've enjoyed your last sleep, Aela. I don't think you'll want to sleep anymore."

For some reason, I grinned as well. "Nor do I. More chances for night hunting."

Skjor nodded. "And remember, Aela; you're moonborn now. So you must abide by the laws of the pack."

"And what are the laws?" I inquired.

"They're laid down by Kodlak, so as to keep our truth hidden." Skjor listed them off on his fingers. "Law one: transform away from innocents, so you may not be tempted into needless bloodshed. Law two: honour and serve Lord Hircine, for the Hunting Grounds we shall go in the afterlife."

"Not Sovngarde?" I commented with surprise.

Skjor shook his head. "As well as a physical change, you're spiritually changed when you accept the blood, Aela. You possess a wolf's spirit now. And you shall run wild in the Hunting Grounds at Hircine's side because of it."

I paused. And then I smiled. "Hunting for eternity? I think I could get used to that."

Skjor smiled. "So could I."

"What's law three?"

"Law three: do not speak of the blessing of Hircine to any outside the Circle."

I frowned. "You spoke of being lycanthropic to me before I was initiated."

"As far as we were concerned, you already were a member of the Circle, just without the fancy ceremony and all that," said Skjor, with a dismissive shrug. "Anyway, law four: fear silver, and kill those who wield it."

"The Silver Hand, I presume?" I guessed.

Skjor nodded. "And that's about it. As long as you remember the laws, and your duty as a member of the Circle to the Companions, then you will survive among us. And prosper, at that."

I was a member of the Circle. I was a werewolf. Now I let the full impact of the news sink in. I was a daughter of the moon. My Father was Hircine. The Hunting Grounds was where I was going to go to when I died. I was going to hunt for eternity and beyond that.

I was a member of the Circle.

I smiled. I was a member of the Circle. The news was incredible. And the fact that I was no longer myself, but a werewolf...that was just as incredible.

But I knew I would have a lot of training to do, before I could ever accept a normal life among my fellow Shield-Siblings again. Though my life was not normal now, and never would be, ever again.

* * *

A midday sun shone brightly overhead. And the training area behind Jorrvaskr was empty. Except for the six Companions who stood quietly in the training area.

Heading the Circle was Kodlak. To his left was Orgmund. To his right was Samiith. Beside them were Lemaat and Skjor. I stood in front of Kodlak, once again dressed in my armour, armed and looking more or less like my old self, which Eorlund had repaired and tweaked a bit for me with a bit of forge magic of his own.

And then Kodlak began the ceremony.

"Brothers of the Circle, we are gathered here to accept another into our number." He looked steadily at me. I was relieved to see his eyes weren't bronze anymore. "This woman has persevered, fought and proven her strength many times over. She has taken the hidden initiation and survived, ready for the tasks that lie beyond."

He turned his gaze to each member of the Circle. "But it is to be decided and agreed upon by all members of the Circle. Who shall speak for her?"

For a moment, there was silence. And then—

"I will speak for her."

I glanced at Skjor. The youngest member of the Circle (and soon-to-be-second-youngest) took a step forward, and looked directly at Kodlak as he spoke again. "I stand witness to the courage of this soul who stands before us," he confirmed.

Why didn't I feel surprised? I looked fondly upon Skjor. In the many years we had spent together, fulfilling contracts and hunting in the wilds of Skyrim, it was unsurprising that he was here now.

"Would you raise a shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked.

I smiled. _I think he'd raise anything in defense for me. He proved that nearly five years ago in the Pale._

"I would stand at her back, so that the world may never overtake us," Skjor declared.

"And would you raise a sword in her honour?" Orgmund questioned.

Skjor rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. "It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

Samiith's tailtip flicked. "Would you walk into the arms of death as siblings?" the Argonian asked.

"I would stride into the depths of Oblivion alongside her, that death itself will not part us," Skjor said. I was a little startled within as I heard the deep earnestness in his voice, the sincerity at which he spoke. I realized that he meant those words far more than I could understand.

"And in whatever rivalries that will come to the mead hall, whatever bonds that may break, will your own between yourself and Aela still burn strong?" Lemaat said.

I shot a quick glance at Skjor, immediately thinking of Dasha and Patros, for some reason.

Skjor nodded without hesitation. "Our bond between us will burn all the brighter, should rivalry spread the others apart," he said.

"And when we gather as a family at the table, would you raise a mug in her honour?" Kodlak asked.

"I would lead the song of triumph as the mead hall reveled in her stories," Skjor declared.

Kodlak nodded, his gaze travelling slowly and steadily around the Circle, before announcing, "Then the judgement of the Circle is complete." His bright eyes turned to me as he said, "Her heart beats with fury and courage, the very attributes which have united the Companions since the days of Ysgramor and the Five Hundred."

He took a few steps forward, until he stood before me, and then placed both his hands upon my shoulders.

"Go well, Huntress," he said quietly, and I sensed pride in his voice. "Fight in the name of the Companions. Bring honour to our mead hall. And hunt forever in the name of our Lord Hircine."

I saw a shadow of sadness pass briefly over his gaze, and then he stepped back from me. And the Circle disbanded.

Skjor remained. "How'd I do?"

I paused thoughtfully. "Not badly," I replied.

Skjor chuckled. "Who would've thought, girl? You've only been with the Companions for less than five years, and already you've made it to the very highest rankings. You've made quite a name for yourself, daughter of the moon."

The four words which he spoke suddenly made me stop with shock. Olava's prophecy resurfaced. And now...I felt I was beginning to understand it.

She had known I was to become a werewolf. She knew who my new Father was going to be.

_Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch._ Her voice rang through my mind. _Beware the hand that wields it, for it shall steal away your most beloved..._

But what was my most beloved? My armour? My weapons? No...I sensed it would be deeper than that.

"Shall we go down to the Bannered Mare for a victory mead?" Skjor suggested.

I put the prophecy to the back of my mind as I turned back to my old friend. "Why not? To celebrate both the wild night and the life-changing morning," I shrugged. "And then perhaps we can give Farkas and Vilkas some training. I hear that Vilkas is becoming quite adept with two-handed-weapons. Undoubtedly, the two boys are going to start dueling soon enough."

"Those two boys are becoming damned lethal with their blades. I daresay it won't be long before they're joining the Circle."

We headed around Jorrvaskr, heading down past the Gildergreen. How strange it felt, to walk amongst the townspeople, burdened with the secret which I was just beginning to hold, to understand. My hand absently went to the amulet that was hung around my neck, at the small wolf carving there. Less than half a day ago, I had first received this from the Father of Manbeasts himself. Less than half a day ago, I was an ordinary woman. I had my own blood. Everything I had to claim about myself was completely of my own make.

Now I possessed the blood and the spirit of a wolf.

My mother had described me many times to be like a she-wolf. Had she known? Or had it just been chance?

Now I could feel the power of the wolf running through my veins. I thought of Jouane. He had scorned me for leaving Rorikstead when the people had needed me most. When my mother had needed me most. And I thought of the incredible power which I wielded now.

_And I wield it not only in the Huntsman's name, but for Skyrim,_ I told myself. No more would I desert those in their time of need. This time, I would be there, always there to protect them.

I am Aela. I am a she-wolf, inside and even out. I am Hircine's chosen. Hircine's blessed.

I am moonborn.

* * *

**A/N: So Aela's a werewolf now. She's going to have a lot of fun!  
**

**I tweaked the Circle's initiation ceremony a bit, to make it slightly more interesting, where all the members of the Circle got to speak a part. Please review while those of you who are following The Huntress wait for chapter twenty-eight. We say farewell to a few Companions we know and love...and Farkas and Vilkas have their promised duel. To be set a few months after Aela becomes a member of the Circle, in Sun's Dusk.  
**

**And thank you, all you guys! I've had so many reviews today, love them all! And over 1600 viewings in just over a week of uploading!? *sighs and faints off chair* You guys all are completely and truly awesome.  
**


	29. Chapter 28 - Private Discussions

**A/N: And here's twenty-eight, guys! Disclaimer: I have not once in my life ever completed more than the first three quests of the Morrowind questline. But I've scoured the wiki page and got all the information about the Bloodmoon and such off that. Oh, and I used a lot of my imagination about the feral werewolves, too. That's all out of my head, not on the wiki, on Morrowind you can choose if the Nerevarine will or won't be a werewolf, but it made sense to make him a werewolf in this bit; made all my ideas click together. Please review, and tell me if you like the ideas.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The others looked up as I entered.

"Ah, good, you're here," Kodlak said, with a friendly smile, as the door to the Underforge grated shut behind me.

"Sorry – got held up a bit. Damned sabre cat," I replied, grimly brandishing my arm which sported three deep gashes in it. Quickly I approached the altar. "So what's going on? Don't tell me you're meeting here because of me again."

"We stopped doing that the moment you took the blood," said Skjor. "We've received word that the Silver Hand are on the prowl again."

I stopped, alarmed. "Where are they at?"

"We're not certain," sniffed Lemaat. "But we just thought you ought to know."

"Sure; that's the only thing you've got to say to me." I turned to Kodlak. "Where are they at?" I repeated.

My Harbinger frowned. "They're moving through Eastmarch. Heading towards Whiterun, but hopefully they'll head further up north to the Pale or to Winterhold."

"What amazes me is the way that they never seem to come to Whiterun," I commented. "I mean, that's where we always transform. And we aren't exactly quiet about it."

Orgmund frowned. "The Silver Hand aren't hunters such as yourself, Aela. They can't read tracks as easily as you can. The werewolves appear to 'vanish', and that's when the Silver Hand know we transform back into ourselves again, but they can't follow us. They hunt their werewolves by following the sound of its calls, and ambushing it, weakening it until it's too exhausted to move, before either trapping it or killing it on the spot."

"Lovely."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? They do that for feral werewolves all the time." Orgmund scowled in distaste. "People inflicted by the more common means of the blood, by surviving a werewolf bite."

I was puzzled. Skjor had mentioned something about the feral werewolves before, people who didn't willingly drink the beastblood like the members of the Circle. "Tell me here and now the difference between feral werewolves," I said.

"What is there to say?" Samiith shrugged. "Feral werewolves were once normal people like...well, like the Companions outside the Circle. Citizens of Tamriel. But then they were afflicted with lycanthropy. Now they have it very different to us. We can control when and where we transform. We keep our heads when we do so. Wild werewolves cannot. They are forced to change whenever the moonlight touches them, and they stay in the form of the wolf until the sun's light breaks that of moonshine. And they completely lose control, as we do, the first time we transform."

"Have you heard of the Bloodmoon?" asked Orgmund. At the shake of my head, Orgmund elaborated. "In the Third Era, roughly about six or so years before the Oblivion Crisis, a warrior called the Nerevarine – the thought reincarnated Nerevar Indoril – went to the island of Solstheim to assist with an old ruin where Imperials had set up camp, called Fort Frostmoth. The place was soon attacked by werewolves. The Nerevarine was sent to a Nordic village called Skaal, where he learned of a prophecy that concerned the Bloodmoon – when Secunda turns red as blood, and when Hircine leads a ritualistic hunt. Hircine, our Lord, took four great champions, including the Nerevarine, to his glacier home, where he made them fight to the death. The Nerevarine survived, and had to fight our Lord himself."

"Fighting a Daedric Prince?" I was shocked. "And our Lord in particular? Did the Nerevarine fail?"

"He did not; he defeated the Father of Manbeasts, and fled the glacier as it began to crumble around him," Samiith replied, with a shake of his head. "But since then, the Bloodmoon rises whenever Hircine senses that one of His Hounds deserves to die by a hunter's hands; because the Nerevarine was a werewolf."

I was surprised. "He was?"

"Unlike the other werewolves, however, he kept his head whenever he transformed, and didn't turn feral; probably because of the great powers of being reincarnated from Nerevar Indoril," frowned Lemaat. "Now this legend is very old, happing over two hundred years ago. But the legend of the Bloodmoon lives on in the minds of the Silver Hand. They hunt werewolves, not to serve Hircine, but to defy him. And they know that if the Bloodmoon rises again, you can bet that they will be there, hunting werewolves until Secunda turns white again."

"You'd be surprised at how many feral werewolves there are in this world," Kodlak said, with a small sigh. "Hundreds, perhaps; their own separate race. They all lose their minds in the end to Hircine, who was furious at his defeat in Solstheim, and who decided to take the minds of the feral werewolves so that he may never be betrayed again."

"But what about us?" I asked. "The ones who willingly take the blood? Will he take our heads as well?"

"We are a different matter," frowned my Harbinger. "Long ago, my predecessor Terrfyg made a pact with a group of witches calling themselves the Glenmoril. He wanted to 'bless' the Circle with the powers of the beast, so that we will become unmatched in battle. He did not believe that the magic the Glenmoril cast upon him and all the members of the Circle would be permanent. And so Terrfyg turned the Circle to the ways of the beast."

"And it has made us all the stronger," Skjor persisted. "We are unmatched in battle. And we have great places to go to, where few can even hope to go to, when our Lord does claim us in death. Not many can enter the Hunting Grounds."

Kodlak slowly nodded, though I saw dissatisfaction in his eyes, as if the Hunting Grounds was not his preferred choice of afterlife. For me, I couldn't imagine a better place to go to.

"Hircine knew that by the Circle, he would have a constant line of werewolves to add to his Grounds," Orgmund said, scowling slightly. "That we would not defy him. He put rare faith in us. As long as we continued the movement of the beastblood, he won't take our minds and make us feral. He will not make the Bloodmoon rise above Jorrvaskr."

My hand slowly went to the amulet which hung around my throat. The very amulet which Hircine had given me. I was his chosen, his blessed. I wouldn't even dream of defying him. I craved to earn more of his favour, to hunt at his side in the afterlife. Because he had gifted me greatly; my hunts were always successful, and prosperous at that. My arrows never missed. My gift of lycanthropy allowed me to sleep for very little, to hunt long into the hours of night and wake at the due time in the morning without penalty.

"But we are hunted nonetheless," Samiith sighed. "The Silver Hand search for us day and night. They all want us dead, for our service to the Daedric Prince and because we, generally, are werewolves. And so we must be careful whenever we set foot outside Jorrvaskr. It's difficult to hide our secret particularly when there is a whelp at our side. We know we cannot transform then, and if the Silver Hand attack us, sometimes we may not have much of a choice."

"Has that ever happened before?" I asked.

"The Silver Hand finding and attacking us on a job?" Orgmund let out a short, humourless laugh. "Oh, more times than I can count. The wolf tries to come forward but I've been a werewolf for nearly three decades and I can control the beast within me pretty well because of it. No whelp has discovered my secret. However, you were close to discovering that for yourself," he added, with a stern scowl towards me.

I folded my arms. "You were tearing bandits limb from limb. And your pawprints were curiously large. Of course I was going to follow them."

"If you had caught up with me that night, I don't think either you or Skjor would have lived to see the next morning," said Orgmund sincerely. "That night was a night when I lost control. I couldn't help myself. Anything that moved died."

"When you say you lost control..."

"You could also say that I was going feral, couldn't you?" Orgmund looked anxious for a moment. "Maybe I am, maybe I am not. I've been moonborn for a long time. Sometimes, when it gets too deeply set in you, it starts echoing your outward actions. Notice that when I get angry, I get seriously angry?"

I had been on a few jobs with Orgmund in the past, in the five years that I had now been with the Companions. And he had become seriously angry then. And whenever he grew mad, rage would shimmer in his eyes, rage so scorching hot that it could melt anything to the touch, most likely.

"You still have a lot to learn about being a werewolf, kid," said Orgmund at last. "You've only been moonborn for four months. You've only just started to understand the powers of the beastblood unleashed. Let's hope that when on solo contracts, and the Silver Hand attacks you on the job, you can channel the beastblood outward, and release the wolf on them." He gave a wolfish grin. "More dangerous, but more fun, to dispose of them that way. And in some ways, easier. As a werewolf, you can – as you so accurately described a few moments ago – rip your enemies limb from limb."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said coolly.

* * *

The twenty-seventh of Sun's Dusk is a day I will never forget.

Skjor and I had just returned from clearing out a cavern of cave bears from the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch, commenting on the value of their dark brown and black pelts. We were heading up to Jorrvaskr when I realized I could hear excited voices from around the back of Jorrvaskr. Exchanging a glance with Skjor, we headed around to the back, to discover everyone outside.

My eyes, naturally, sought out Dasha and Patros. They always sat together, watching and observing quietly everything that happened and went on in Jorrvaskr. They seemed most interested about the Circle. It was undoubted that they were pretty powerful; they had done many contracts, though they never went alone, and they never accepted anyone else as their Shield-Siblings. They had been all around Skyrim, always being back from within the hour to within a week, depending on the location of where they were assigned to. But even now, four months after arriving in Jorrvaskr, they still didn't take part in anything that happened around the table in the evenings, and sometimes, they would go down to the Bannered Mare by themselves. I disliked them, and I was sure that they disliked me, though I didn't really care. They weren't like Derrick had been before the Forsworn task in the Reach, always sniping and making rude racial comments. But they were cold, and that seemed worse; even Derrick took part in the songs and the leading of songs and the general merriment at the table at nights.

Skjor had taught me quite a bit about reading expressions, now that I was a werewolf. I could read expressions on the faces of those around me with surprising ease, and it always startled me to sense the coldness radiating off Dasha and Patros in waves.

Skjor and I went and sat down at the same table where Eiwen, Aileen and Derrick were sitting at, with Fang slumbering coolly in the shade. The aged warhound was looking more grizzled than ever as the years began to catch up to him, and he never went with Aileen on contracts anymore, but he was still immensely cheeky at the table, thieving off the plates of those who weren't looking carefully at their dinners.

"What's going on?" I asked them.

Derrick glanced towards me, casually nodded, and remarked, "Farkas and Vilkas are finally having their long-expected duel."

Derrick had changed ever since I had saved him from the Forsworn over a year ago. He was less rude and scornful to not only me, but to everyone around him, including Eiwen. The Bosmer was now comfortable sitting beside him; an outstanding achievement, considering that they had been each other's nemesis before the Reach. And I liked the Bretons even more because of it.

I looked towards the front. I saw, to my surprise, that both boys were all geared up in their gleaming steel armour, their Skyforge steel greatswords at the ready. Even Eorlund, who came down to Jorrvaskr very little, was seated beside Kodlak and Orgmund and watching with considerable interest; he had warmed particularly to Farkas ever since he had first come to Jorrvaskr all those years ago.

Both had their weapons drawn. Ornith leaned on a pillaring nearby, observing the boys critically with narrowed crimson eyes. He reminded me strongly of the Ornith he once had been before Taija's death. He always seemed to be himself again whenever he was around the whelps. I realized that he was going to oversee the formal duel, and to make sure there was to be no cheating.

Farkas and Vilkas slowly circled each other. Their steps were slow and sure. I admit, I was quite proud of how far the boys had come. Both were very talented with their choice of weapons, and both were very strong warriors. I knew this was going to definitely be a duel to remember.

"Fight!" Ornith commanded sharply.

Vilkas lunged. Farkas raised his weapon in defense. The weapons sang against one another. Vilkas swept forward, the blade cutting through the air. With surprising agility, Farkas swept around, lowering the blade as he did so, driving off Vilkas's blow. But he didn't press the advantage, perhaps as another warrior would have done.

Vilkas took this advantage instead to take a few steps back. Farkas paused for a moment, as though thinking, and then he charged himself. He was a pretty terrifying sight, if you hadn't seen Farkas fight before; the boy was all muscle and sheer force and nothing else. Vilkas, knowing his brother better than anyone else in Jorrvaskr, quickly sidestepped the attack and swiftly brought the blade up to parry Farkas's disarming blow. The strength behind it was mostly deflected, but enough to make Vilkas clench his teeth and loosen his grip on the blade, ever so slightly, and taking another step back. Farkas whirled around, greatsword readied, waiting tensely for Vilkas's next attack.

And then Vilkas charged. Farkas brought the greatsword up to parry, block, deflect every single blow that Vilkas made. The speed at which they fought was...incredible. They barely seemed to think; they just knew, and just acted, almost instinctively.

I remembered how I had observed the duel, just before I had been sent up to Dragonsreach by Vignar Gray-Mane, between Vilkas and Ornith. Vilkas had fought with the speed of the wind, matching Ornith blow for blow. He had disarmed the Dunmer and sent him sprawling on the ground. Everyone had been amazed that Vilkas, who had only been sixteen then, had defeated Jorrvaskr's best swordsman in a one-on-one duel.

And Farkas's strength was completely formidable. He could face anything. His fortitude continued to amaze and impress everyone in Jorrvaskr. I didn't know who was going to win this duel, and that was an honest realization.

Greatsword clashed against greatsword. Each time Farkas swung, Vilkas would dodge, and press the advantage as his brother staggered. And each time, Farkas would bring the greatsword swinging around, driving away Vilkas's blows. When Farkas was brought to his knees, and Vilkas was above, greastword poised, we all thought it was over. And then with unbelievable speed, Farkas had rolled, pushed himself back to his feet, greatsword clenched in one hand, and brought it swinging around in a blow that Vilkas only narrowly avoided.

All I remembered was for a very long time, Farkas and Vilkas fought. And then, suddenly, Vilkas slipped, enough time for Farkas to swing his greatsword into Vilkas's armoured chest. The boy grunted and fell sprawling to his side, and before he could recover, Farkas had pressed his foot against Vilkas's shoulder, and the greatsword lightly touched the back of Vilkas's neck.

For a moment, they held the pose.

And then Farkas stepped back, sheathing the greatsword, and helping Vilkas rise. Everyone applauded.

"They're true warriors, aren't they?" chuckled Eiwen. "Amazing, how much they've accomplished, in the short time they've been learning to fight. I daresay they'll be heading out on their first assignment soon enough."

"You're kidding, right? They should've both been out there long before," Skjor remarked incredulously. Fang let out a few barks of his own congratulations towards the twins, who formally shook hands and exchanged delighted words with one another.

"I think it would've been a draw in the end," commented Aileen. "If only Vilkas's stamina hadn't run out then. Farkas was always bodily stronger, and had more stamina to last on."

I nodded in agreement. "They're pretty good warriors," I remarked. Looking over the two boys, I wondered vaguely how strong they would be exactly if they had the beastblood flowing within them. Their strength really would be unmatched. And maybe Farkas would've concentrated a bit better on long-forgotten hunting classes. We had decided to call a halt to them shortly after I had become a member of the Circle, deciding that it really wasn't going to work out. Farkas was more than happy to put his longbow away and let Vilkas use it whenever he wanted.

They truly did possess the talents of Ysgramor. I'm sure everyone knew that already. Though neither were really hunters, I was sure that Hircine meant for them to become two more sons of the moon.

_Perhaps one day,_ I thought to myself.

* * *

"Aren't you nervous at all?" asked Skjor quietly.

"Not really," I replied, with a shrug. "I mean, I've spoken to Kodlak privately a few times before."

"But I think this time, it regards..." Skjor looked pointedly at me, and I understood.

"So he's checking up on me," I concluded. "Don't worry about me, Skjor. I'm going to be fine. More than fine. It's Kodlak's duty to check up on his Shield-Siblings, after all."

Skjor nodded. "I'll wait out here, if you like."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Says the woman who had to guard over Vilkas and Farkas in their younger years."

"Shut up." I strode towards the door that led into Kodlak's quarters.

I knocked softly on the door, and a moment later I heard Kodlak respond. "Come in."

As I slipped inside, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind me, my eyes fell to Kodlak, my Harbinger. He was leaning against the wall of his quarters, near his table. His eyes flashed quickly up to mine, and he smiled and said, "Ah, Aela. Good, you're here."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Of course. Come and sit down beside me."

I complied, wondering what on earth this was all about.

Kodlak folded his arms across his chest and said, "So, daughter of Hircine, how are you faring?"

I was puzzled. "Explain, please."

"How are you adapting to the changes and the twists your life's path has decided for you?"

"You mean my turn to being moonborn?" I asked.

Kodlak nodded. "Aye, girl."

"Well, to tell the truth, it's been fantastic." I let a small smile play across my face. "Hircine really must be watching over me. Whenever I hunt, I find wonderful things to track and to kill. My arrow never misses, as long as I wear Hircine's charm around my throat. And it's been really...satisfying, you know? Wielding such power, a power which I alone can control, when I walk amongst my Shield-Siblings as a lion would walk amongst sheep. Though I wouldn't even think of hurting them," I added quickly.

Kodlak nodded. "You have been a lycanthrope for four months," he said. "You have adapted remarkably well to the beastblood. You were always destined to become one of us, though. Hircine laid a great path of life out for you, Huntress."

His gaze grew heavier. "You transform regularly?"

"Yes," I admitted, though shamelessly. "Every few nights."

Kodlak's gaze flickered to the amulet. "I presume that you have already discovered the next potential element of the amulet that Hircine gifted to you?"

I nodded. "It allows me to transform more regularly than most would be able to. And it allows me to control the Bloodlust. I can decide when and when not to feed."

Kodlak nodded. "A valuable item. Hircine has great things in store for you in the afterlife, I'm sure."

"You think so?"

Kodlak frowned for a moment. "Yes, I do think so. You take strongly to the ways of the pack. And you know the Laws I laid down very well now. You have not harmed anything other than wild animals. You have not even taken to eating flesh from beings yet, have you?"

I shook my head. "But maybe one day," I said, half to myself.

I expected Kodlak to get angry at this. Instead, he just let out a small, troubled sigh.

"The first time that I tasted the flesh of other beings was...different," Kodlak began. "I found that it was difficult for me to resist. Like how one gets addicted to skooma, and cannot get off the drug. But when I finally did shake the addiction off, I vowed to myself that the fangs of the wolf which I control were never to consume fallen beings again."

"Why?" I asked. "Skjor told me that the blood of beings was more satisfying to the Bloodlust than the blood of animals."

"It is," Kodlak nodded. "But the guilt that follows afterwards is strong. Could you live with yourself if you allowed yourself to willingly consume the corpses of beings, who were once living and breathing men and women?"

I hesitated. _Could_ I live with that knowledge? But before I could respond, Kodlak sighed and said, "You do not know the answer. Perhaps not. Perhaps you must commit the deed before you can understand what I say to you. Or perhaps you do not want to tell me the truth. Either way, I am not angry. But I am here to help guide you in...managing...your beast."

I relaxed, just a little. "Thank you, Harbinger."

Kodlak nodded. "Of course, child."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. When you transform, where do you go?"

"North, usually," I replied. "Up to the frozen peaks of the Pale, or to the marshes of Hjaalmarch. I do enjoy heading south into woodland, though. Lots of deer there."

"Not to the Reach?"

Before I could respond, I suddenly heard a small, tentative knock at the door. Kodlak sharply looked up, and then said, "Very well, you may come in."

The door opened. To my surprise, Aileen, Derrick and Fang walked into the quarters. I immediately could see that they looked troubled, nervous even, but absolutely set.

_On what?_

"Kodlak, Harbinger," Aileen began. "We...my brother and I...we need to speak with you."

"Of course," Kodlak said, leaning back in his chair. "What troubles you, brother and sister?"

Derrick glanced at Aileen, and then turned his gaze firmly to Kodlak.

"We wish to leave the Companions."

Whatever I had been expecting, I had not been expecting this. For a moment, silence hung in the air, until I broke it.

"Why?"

"We've thought about it for over a year, since we came back from the Reach," Aileen explained, a little awkwardly, knotting her hands nervously behind her back. "Derrick and I have discussed it a lot, and...we've decided we need to head home. Back to High Rock."

Kodlak slowly nodded. "Do I have permission to ask why you have chosen this?"

"Our time in the Reach told us that our family, well, didn't belong in Skyrim," said Derrick. "And so nor do we. Our place isn't here as refugees and mercenaries in Jorrvaskr. Not anymore, at least. Our place is in the windblown crests of High Rock. Back home, with whatever family we have left. Skyrim isn't our home anymore, and I don't think it ever will be again."

"Of course it's your home," I protested. "We've known each other for too long now. You've been loyal members of the Companions. You've been our Shield-Siblings for years beyond count!"

Aileen nodded. "I've loved my time here. But when we were captured in the Reach, experiencing Earth Magic, trying to be turned by our own mother...we knew that we couldn't stay. Most of my family became Forsworn, became aligned with the Hagravens, Gods-accursed creatures, and we could have hurt our own Shield-Siblings just because of our bloodline. It nearly led us to becoming Forsworn as well." She looked dead in my eye as she murmured, "It nearly got you killed, Aela. I couldn't have lived with myself if you had died to Mavuria's claws."

I wanted to tell Aileen, there and now, that I wouldn't have died. I couldn't have died. My Father had been watching over me in the depths of the Karthspire. But I could not reveal anything about who I truly was to the Bretons. So all I said was, "I wouldn't have let her kill me."

"You suffered Earth Magic. Few who do survive." Derrick was serious, his face earnest. "You did nearly die, Aela. You didn't realize this. And if you had fallen, then everyone in Karthwasten would have eventually been killed as well. The Forsworn were very powerful. They possessed Red Eagle's weapon."

Red Eagle. A name I hadn't heard uttered for over a year. "What exactly is Red Eagle?"

"A very powerful Forsworn," Aileen said gravely. "He was the first Briarheart. Thousands of Reachmen looked up to him. Today, they still do. His weapon, Red Eagle's Fury, was said to have slain a thousand enemies in one battle, before he himself was killed. If...if the Reach had been reclaimed by the Forsworn then, he would have risen again, as a powerful undead. Nobody would have been able to face him then. His Earth Magic would have been far too powerful to resist by anyone."

She turned back to Kodlak. "We know that with such connections to the Forsworn, we could be endangering everyone here in Jorrvaskr. So we've made our decision to leave. We can't risk such a victory of...of our brethren...happening again."

Kodlak simply nodded. "I understand. And we will all be sorry to see you go. When are you leaving?"

"Today. As soon as you permit us to leave."

I was shocked. "You aren't even staying another night?"

"Our place isn't with the Companions anymore," said Derrick. "Once, we were Shield-Siblings. I loved my time here. I adored it, even. Even though I wasn't exactly...the best Shield-Brother...I still enjoyed being in Jorrvaskr."

"And we enjoyed your company, when you were filled with mead and drunkenly yelling old Breton songs in the early hours of morning," I commented.

Aileen softly laughed. "Oh, Aela, I'll miss you."

"Likewise." I rose and we embraced briefly. "Stay safe. Don't let those bloody Reachmen try to possess you again." I frowned suddenly. "To get back to High Rock you'll have to pass through the Reach."

Derrick shook his head. "We're going to journey back to our homeland the long way around. We're going to head into Hammerfell and then up to High Rock, back to our hometown of Tehanna. See if we can start fresh and shake off echoes of the past, forget our connections to the accursed Forsworn. Hopefully, we'll be back home in my family's old manor in time for the New Life Festival." He smiled. "It'll be good to celebrate the New Life Festival in the traditional Breton way this year."

"I can see why you want to leave so early," said Kodlak. "And I bid you safe passage, Aileen and Derrick. You have both been loyal members of Jorrvaskr, bold mercenaries, even bolder still to face your troubling past. I sy to you farewell; perhaps we will meet again one day."

"Perhaps," Aileen said vaguely. "If you ever come to High Rock. I don't think Derrick and I intend to return here, to Skyrim. Too cold."

"And I don't think we'll go to High Rock," I said. "Far too stony and hilly for our taste."

They laughed. And then they fell subdued. "So I suppose this is it, then," murmured Aileen. Her gaze swept over both me and Kodlak. "Farewell."

"Farewell," Kodlak and I echoed. I leaned down and gave Fang one last pat. I'd miss this cheeky warhound. The old dog barked fondly. Then I straightened and watched as Aileen and Derrick turned and headed back through the undercroft one more time, Fang trotting eagerly at their heels. Not once did they look back.

I felt my heart twist. I'd miss them. Aileen had been one of my closest friends.

Farewell.

* * *

**A/N: Goodbye Aileen, Derrick and Fang. I'm sure we'll all miss you!**

**Stick around, soon to come, chapter twenty-nine: Aela has her first experience of Dwemer ruins! Please review! Can't get enough of you guys :)  
**


	30. Chapter 29 - Dwemer Dangers, Part 1

**A/N: Yes, chapter twenty-nine and chapter thirty used to be one chapter! But I had to split it into two parts, to make reading it easier.**

**When looking at possible dwemer ruins for Aela and co. to investigate, I came upon a neat little place called Kagrenzel. It's located in the mountains in Eastmarch, east of the Imperial Camp there. Careful; lots of frost trolls on the way up! And you should really go and take a look at the place yourselves, because it's a really fantastic little place, much quicker to clear than any other dwemer ruin, and much more fun to go through.  
**

**I went and experienced it myself, had to go quickly on Skyrim to check it out. WORD OF WARNING: When you touch what's on the altar in the end room DO NOT MOVE from the position where you touched it, or else what happens in twenty seconds is definitely going to kill you. Found that out the hard way :O But enough of me; read on, two chapters back-to-back! And review, please :)  
**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The day was the fourth of First Seed when I returned to Jorrvaskr after a wild night of hunting, my eyes still glittering slightly bronze and adrenalin still pulsing through my body. I stepped quietly into Jorrvaskr, wondering if Skjor would still be awake, hoping to make it to my private chambers unnoticed.

I didn't. I realized that Jorrvaskr was not as empty as I had hoped it to be. Lemaat was standing near the fire, and with him was Orgmund and Skjor.

Guessing that another meeting of the Circle was about to happen, I stepped lightly down the wooden steps, and saw Orgmund turn towards me.

"Finally, you're back," he growled.

"Been waiting long?" I asked.

"For a minute or two; long enough," Orgmund grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "We need to speak with you."

"Okay." I went and stood near Skjor and folded my arms. "What about?"

"Your newest contract." Lemaat looked steadily at me.

"Seriously, so soon?" Only a few days ago, I had returned from the woods of the Rift, to deal with an irksome nest of Frostbite Spiders that had been threatening Shor's Stone for a while. I was surprised, or perhaps not; with Aileen and Derrick long gone from the halls of Jorrvaskr, there were less whelps to hand contracts around. "And why are you all here to discuss it with me?" I was equally puzzled as to why nearly all the members of the Circle were here.

"Where you're going on this latest contract is pretty hazardous," said Lemaat, with a frown. "A Dwemer ruin."

I was surprised. In my five and a half years of being with the Companions, not once had I been sent to a Dwemer ruin. Not even Skjor had ventured into one. They were dangerous and hazardous and very lethal. Few who entered ever came out alive.

"And so you're most certainly not going alone," Lemaat added. "Particularly when we know barely anything about this latest ruin that is your destination. Some place called Kagrenzel."

"Kagrenzel. Nope, haven't heard of it."

"You haven't heard of a single Dwemer ruin before," Skjor teased, though it was only vaguely light-hearted. "But we've been tasked with clearing out whatever automatons and Falmer lurk in there – as well as collecting a rare, invaluable treasure."

My surprise only grew. The Companions hardly were treasure-hunters.

"Who's the contractor?" I asked.

"Members in the College of Winterhold themselves," Orgmund replied. "They're looking for some kind of orb. They sent a previous group of mercenaries to get the thing and they haven't returned, so it's presumed they're dead. And then they contacted us."

"They want us to get the orb where others have failed?"

"Common mercenaries are pretty...well, not-so-specialized when it comes to facing danger," Lemaat commented. "But the mages have paid us handsomely for the job to be done. And we intend to get the job done, with the best of the best." He nodded to Skjor and Orgmund. "You, along with these two dogs, are heading to Kagrenzel, with Eiwen."

I looked around. "Where is she?"

"Still asleep, obviously," said Skjor. "But we leave at daybreak, and ride hard to Eastmarch. The ruin's located in the mountains." He pulled out a map and showed it to me, and I saw that he had traced a path that led from the road and up to the ruin's location, marked with a red X. "Kodlak wants us to be back within a week, though there's no telling with this ruin; it's so isolated that nobody's entered it very often."

"So basically, we don't know what to expect?" I presumed, handing the map back to Skjor. "Why not leave Eiwen here and let me, Orgmund and Skjor handle it...in an easier and stronger way?"

Lemaat frowned heavily. "No. We need a whelp to go with you as well. Eiwen's a highly skilled and talented warrior. And she has been in Dwemer ruins several times before."

I was surprised. "She has?"

"She's explored ruins all over Skyrim and Morrowind," said Lemaat dismissively. "Before she joined the Companions she made quite the adventurer, and the more dangerous, the better. She has the best knowledge of Dwemer ruins. She'll help keep you three wolves safe from the automatons and the traps that, most likely, you'll experience in Kagrenzel."

I nodded. "That makes sense," I conceded, though I was a little irritated that none of us would be able to unleash our wolf spirits any time within the ruins, even if our lives were threatened. If Eiwen discovered our secret, it could be catastrophic.

Lemaat nodded curtly. "Now that I've finished my briefing, I'm going to see if I can get any more rest before daybreak," he said. "But I'll say this now; good luck to all of you. Succeed at this and we'll have a lot more gold coming our way; the strange orb seems to matter a lot to these scholars at the College. Something about unworldly and magic, though I don't give one damn why they need the orb, so long as they give us plenty of gold for the dangerous task."

I nodded. "We're the best of the best, after all. And with Hircine at our backs, we'll come out of there alive."

Lemaat's gaze narrowed. "Another reason why we chose you against me and Samiith to go to Kagrenzel. With our Lord watching over you, you'll definitely all come out of there alive."

* * *

The air up here was icy and cold, and seemed to resonate with some unseen forces that made me shiver. Stormy let out an agitated whinny and stomped his hooves restlessly on the powdery snow, unwilling to take another step further towards the shadow of the Dwarven ruin, which loomed before us.

Skjor nudged Eve up beside Stormy and looked over at the distant shape of Kagrenzel. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" he remarked quietly.

I nodded, shivering a little from that strange magic. Whatever was inside Kagrenzel, it was pretty powerful, and definitely outworldly. I glanced back over my shoulder towards where Orgmund and Eiwen were hurrying to catch up, urging their horses, Brumby and Dune, through the cool snow. The horses were growing restless as well.

"They can sense it," I murmured, as Stormy jerked restlessly beneath me. I looked over at Skjor. "Can you sense it, too?"

"Yeah." Skjor shivered, and for a moment, I envied his luscious-looking wolf armour. The thick fur edges of the armour looked tantalizingly warm, though I refused to have Eorlund make me a set up at the Skyforge. My Ancient Nord armour had served me well all the way to now, and I don't think I could have stood the touch of wolf fur. Those three wolves attacking me when I was sixteen still held some pretty gruesome memories for me.

Jerking back to the present, I gave Stormy another nudge forward, but this time in sheer panic the grey stallion reared, hooves churning, letting out a terrifying whinny, nearly dislodging me from the saddle. He crashed back down, jerking me forward, and snorted in pure fear, trying to take steps backwards, back down the slope we had just climbed.

"Having trouble?" Eiwen tugged Dune to a halt near me, glancing concernedly at Stormy.

"I've had trouble with this bloody gelding ever since Skjor first showed him to me, a year and a half ago!" I sat up, breathless, Stormy restlessly tossing his head and nearly jerking his reins out from beneath my half-frozen fingers.

"Perhaps it'd be best if we left the horses here, and head up the rest of the way to Kagrenzel on foot," Orgmund suggested, his eyes narrowed. Beneath him Brumby tossed back his head, the whites showing around the young horse's eyes, and tried to take a step backward. "Because I'm not riding this damned colt another inch if he's acting up like this."

Skjor nodded. "Good idea."

We dismounted. I envied Skjor for having such a close relationship to Eve. The sedate black-and-brown mare from the Whiterun stables had always been fair-tempered and doted particularly on Skjor, and she was the only one not panicking out. To prevent the horses from drifting off, we tied their reins together. They huddled in the snow, looking anxiously after us, as we began to wade through the waist-deep snow and towards the ruin.

None of us spoke for a bit, until the snow thinned out and we could walk fairly easily again. Cold winds slapped our faces, sending cold, frosty snowflakes splattering against our skin.

Eiwen shivered violently. I glanced concernedly back at my Bosmer friend, remembering that she didn't have the natural resistance to cold as Skjor, Orgmund and I did. "You okay?"

"Do I look-k-k lik-k-ke I'm ok-k-kay?" Eiwen replied through chattering teeth.

"We'll be inside soon enough," called Skjor at the front, over the roar of the wind. "I've just found the entrance!"

He stood near some tall, crooked archways that led down towards a very tall, dark bronze door, engraved in the heavy stonework of the exterior of Kagrenzel. Skjor turned to Eiwen. "Hey, Dwemer-brainiac! Is this the way in or what?"

"Of cours-s-se!" Eiwen snapped, rubbing her hands together in an effort to warm herself. Eventually, we all made it so we were standing just outside the big door, the wind blowing at our backs and cutting into our bare flesh like a knife. Eiwen crouched down in front of it, inspecting the keyhole, and then let out a cry of triumph. "Yes, it's s-s-still unlocked-d-d! Just frozen stiff-f-f."

We all threw our weight against the door and pushed, and gradually, we heard it shift, and slowly swing open, until it was open enough for all four of us to slip inside. Orgmund, with his broad shoulders, had a bit of difficulty getting inside himself, until at last we were all within the gloomy ruin. The doors suddenly swung shut behind us, with a loud, metallic _clang_ that reverberated around the stone walls.

"Wow," breathed Skjor, staring around with his one good eye.

Eiwen shrugged, brushing snowflakes off her skin, which had taken a slightly-alarming pale pallor, and remarked, "This is nothing. Just the craftsmanship of the Dwemer first meeting your eyes."

At least she was speaking normally again. The entrance chamber was pretty big, and a strange light seemed to glow within, as pale silver as starlight, and forming a big pool of light just before us, outlining a small staircase that led deeper into the ruin. I breathed in the cool, musty air, smelling of stone, and looked around. A strange sort of mist was curling around our ankles.

"The air here is old; older than anything I've ever encountered," Eiwen mused, as she took a few confident steps forward, looking around. "It's rarely been disturbed."

"So how big is the ruin?" asked Orgmund, falling in step just behind Eiwen.

The Bosmer turned and glared irritably at the burly Nord. "How should I know? I've never been in this place before. You can't tell how big a damned ruin is just by feeling the air."

Her voice echoed around the stone chambers. I strained my ears, and heard the sound bounce further down the corridor, and then grow fainter, as if it had suddenly entered a larger room. Glancing at Skjor, I knew that he had also heard this. Quickly we followed Eiwen, who had taken the lead, with Orgmund just in front of us.

"Dark; pitch black in front of us," murmured Eiwen, as she climbed the stairs and looked down the shadowed corridor beyond. "Does anyone have a torch?"

Wordlessly Orgmund pulled out an unlit torch. "Care to work a bit of Elvish magic on this?" he grunted, handing it over.

The Bosmer held it in one hand. In the other, flames suddenly conjured between her fingertips. She spread the little flames on the head of the torch and suddenly light flooded the chamber as the torch head ignited. Extinguishing the flame spell between her fingertips, she walked more confidently down the narrow corridor, calling over her shoulder, "Come on, then."

"Shit, Eiwen, I didn't know you could make fire," I commented, falling into step just behind the Bosmer.

"All Bosmer have a bit of magic in them; not too much," replied Eiwen up ahead. "We all know a simple flame spell. But we never really use it, or develop it, very much, apart from useful moments like these. Good thinking for bringing the torch, Orgmund."

He just shrugged.

A moment later, we had approached another large door, which was easier to open than the one behind us, leading outside. Skjor and Orgmund threw their weight against it until it clanged against the stone walls and stayed in that position. As Eiwen walked through, holding the torch high above her head, I followed just behind, and light flooded the next chamber.

And that's when I saw it.

"Look!" I gasped, pointing forward.

I didn't need to tell the others to look. They were already looking, in stunned horror and mingled surprise, at what was in the centre of the room. Perched upon a stone altar in the centre of a stone circle, outlined lightly by a large bronze ring, was...an orb. The orb we were looking for. The strange, unnatural feeling washed over us stronger this time, stronger than outside, and an odd golden light suddenly sparked into life, surrounding the orb, and filling the chamber with light. The exterior seemed to be made out of the lightest glass, or liquid mist.

Surrounding the altar where the orb sat were corpses. The corpses of the mercenaries who had come before us...and failed. They were well and truly dead, and yet they looked as if nothing had touched them. There were no wounds on the outsides of their bodies. They didn't smell of sickness, either.

In stunned disbelief, we walked forward.

"This is it?" Orgmund said, in slight irritation, breaking the suspense. "We spend two minutes in a Dwarven ruin, and that's it? That's what we're meant to look for?"

I frowned. "Odd. What killed those mercenaries?"

Skjor and Eiwen were just as puzzled as I. Orgmund looked more annoyed that there didn't seem to be anything to fight, and that we had found our objective easily. I looked around where I stood, wondering if there was a door that led to another secret passage anywhere. But the walls were all bare. There wasn't anything else to see except for the strange orb, sitting upon the altar in the middle of the wide stone circle, surrounded by the bodies of the dead mercenaries.

"Unusual," Eiwen commented, as we slowly walked towards the orb. The strange feeling grew stronger as we neared it, as did the light that glimmered in the mysterious orb. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Nor have I," Skjor agreed.

"Well, at least it's just easy gold to get from the College," shrugged Orgmund, reaching forward.

Immediately I lashed out, grasping Orgmund's arm, preventing him from reaching out any further. Orgmund stared at me as if I was crazy. "What are you doing?" he growled, trying to tug his arm free.

I held on with a grip like steel, privately thanking Hircine for gifting me with greater strength. "I don't think it's that easy," I warned him, and reluctantly let his wrist go. "Look at the mercenaries. We're meant to be smarter than they are. If they're lying around dead near the orb, that means that they would have had to have died from it, wouldn't they?"

"You think the orb killed them?" Skjor stared in wonder at the dead mercenary nearest to his foot.

"What else could have?" I argued. "They've got no wounds to their bodies. They didn't die of sickness. And there's a definite feeling of supernatural to this...thing." I glanced back at the orb, and the light glowed even brighter. "We can all feel the magic coming off this thing. Obviously it's going to kill whatever living thing touches it."

"A sound theory," Eiwen agreed, frowning at the orb. "This could be a Dwemer trap, though it's unlike anything I've ever seen before. Most traps are pressure plates on the floor that release spinning blades, gas, fire traps...all kinds of things. Not this."

"No wonder the College wants it," Skjor agreed. "And I've got a feeling this could be a trap. It could be too easy. But there's no other way to carry it out."

I glanced at the mercenaries, an idea slowly forming in my mind. I glanced at Skjor, and then at Orgmund. Perhaps they thought the same thing as I did. My hand, absently, went to the amulet which I always wore. Hircine's token.

"You have to try," Orgmund said quietly.

Eiwen frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ah, yes. I had forgotten a whelp was here. I glanced at Eiwen, briefly unsure what to say to the Bosmer. Then I simply sighed and shook my head and said, "It'll take too long to explain anything to you now, I'm sorry. But I think that I can touch it safely."

"And end up on the floor dead as a skeever?" Eiwen asked, her voice betraying her anxiety.

"There isn't another way to get this damned orb out of here," I snapped irritably. "One of us has to get it." I turned back to the orb. "We're not leaving here without it."

"Aela, you could die!"

"Any one of us could die," Skjor replied. His voice was earnest. "And we have to try, don't we?"

"I'm going to try." I made my voice sound absolutely certain to Eiwen. "And don't bother trying to talk me out of it, Eiwen. I think we both know that I'm more stubborn than a mule."

Eiwen hesitated. And then, she abruptly nodded, though I could see real fear flashing in her gaze. "Very well. I know I can't dissuade you when your mind's made up."

I nodded. _Father, protect me!_ With hands that trembled ever so slightly, I reached out towards the orb. Quickly my palms grew warm. Taking a deep breath, I reached forward, and grasped the orb.

Blazing heat suddenly seared up my arms and into my mind, and something was jerked out of my hands. The orb suddenly shot into the air, and as it did, I suddenly had the unmistakable urge that I was trapped. Whipping around at the rhythmic metallic clangs, I realize that the bronze outline of the big stone circle had risen from the floor, revealing itself to actually be the inescapable bars of a cage.

"Shit!" Eiwen yelled in panic. "It's a trap!"

"Tell me something I don't know!" Orgmund roared, his hand going to his weapon.

But before any of us could move again, a horrible sound suddenly filled our ears. It was like...screaming. A horrible, pulsing sonic that made us clap our hands to our heads and curse in pain, as agony clouded our minds. We staggered backwards, wincing, gritting our teeth, as the pain went on and on. My eyes widened in pain, sure it was hurting Skjor and Orgmund just as much as it was hurting me, and I suddenly saw the orb slide smoothly out through the bars of the cage that had imprisoned us.

Still making that dreadful sound, because that was where I was sure the sound was coming from, on its own accord it began to slowly revolve around the outside of the cage in a wide circle. As it passed around us, trapped, the first time, it suddenly fell silent. The horrible sound that had filled our minds stopped abruptly. Tentatively, I lowered my hands down from my head, to hear the last echoes of the dreadful sound vanish into silence.

"What's...what's it doing?" whimpered Eiwen.

The orb was just revolving around us, trapped in the cage, making no sound at all. The last echoes of the pain of hearing that terrible sonic sound vanished from my mind, and I straightened, looking desperately around us for some way, any way, out of the trap. The light of the revolving orb washed over us as it passed slowly around the cage.

"This is no ordinary magic." Orgmund's voice was hard, his gaze never wavering from the orb as it floated past him for the third time. He glanced at me. "What did you do? Are you all right? Did he protect you?"

"I'm...I'm not sure," I whispered. But I was alive, I realized. I hadn't died. Had Hircine protected me after all, even when I had walked into a trap, yet again?

Eiwen glanced at quizzically at Orgmund. "Who protected Aela?"

Before any of us could do anything again, the orb halted. And the dreadful sound returned, without warning, sounding now as if it were pulsing. It was shriller than ever before. I screamed in agony as my lycanthropic senses cringed and twisted in the pain of hearing such a sound. Skjor and Orgmund reacted similarly, while Eiwen, unable to hear this pitch even with her own sharp Elven ears, looked on in horror and confusion. In pain, I staggered blindly backwards, into the bars of the cage, clutching my hands to head, whispering desperately, "Father, protect me!"

_Make it stop,_ whispered the wolf. _Make it stop..._

The orb suddenly floated back through the cage bars, coming to a halt just above the altar, bathing us all in light, the noise growing fatally loud, and then slowly it lowered itself onto the altar, slid through it...vanishing from sight. The altar slid into the ground. And the noise stopped.

The echoes vanished. I lowered my hands from my head, praying that it was over. That the cage bars would lower. That we could leave.

"Is it...is it over?" Skjor was panting, his eye wide and frightened.

For a brief moment, none of us moved.

And then a strange bluish light suddenly began to swirl around us, like a strange blue fog. Eiwen yelled in shock, Orgmund swore loudly, and Skjor and I were too startled to even speak. But the strange light didn't hurt us one bit. It just felt cold – very cold. It swirled around our ankles, all steadily revolving in the centre of the circle, where the altar and the orb had vanished. Gradually, it swirled faster and faster, until that light, too, faded.

And we didn't move, didn't dare speak, break the strange silence that had fallen over the chamber.

And then, faintly, I heard something shift. And without warning, the whole floor beneath us began to tremble, and then steadily tilt. Eiwen screamed in horror, but suddenly there wasn't any floor for us to stand on. And we were falling.

"Aela!" I heard Skjor desperately call.

We were falling, faster and faster, down a stone tunnel that led vertically downwards, into seeming nothingness. We plummeted down through the stone chambers.

"Skjor!" I screamed. "Eiwen! Orgmund!" But the wind that was slapping me harder and harder was taking my breath away. Wildly I cried out as we fell, falling faster and faster, the stone sides flying past us in a dizzying display, the chamber growing darker and darker. I expected, any moment, to hit the stone, to have my life snatched away from me in the space of a heartbeat.

And then colour and size exploded around me. I stared down into the dark shimmering depths of water. It rose up to meet me. And then I hit.

The shock of crashing into the water knocked every inch of me senseless. Pain gripped my body in a burning ache. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, as I sank beneath the disturbed shimmering surface of the underground lake.

And then suddenly the wolf within me roared, _Get up! Get out! We hate the water!_

I jerked back into my senses. My lungs were screaming. Quickly I kicked up towards the surface, swimming desperately, and then burst at the top, sucking in lungful after lungful of cold, wonderous air, desperately thrashing in the water.

"Skjor!" I screamed, the moment I got my voice back. "Orgmund! Eiwen!" I looked around desperately, praying that I would be able to see them somewhere.

My cries echoed around the cavern. Where were they? They had fallen with me! They couldn't have drowned, they just couldn't have!

And then suddenly Skjor's head appeared in the water not too far away from me. "Aela!" he shouted, seeing me, his voice aching with relief.

"Skjor!" Wildly I looked around. I realized that we were in the biggest chamber I had ever seen. It seemed to be the size of Whiterun on its own. Strange blue lights glittered on the black ceiling, hundreds of metres above us. Tall walkways crisscrossed above the shimmering black lake. Lights glowed in various places, and cast glowing gold ripples over the darkness of the water. "Make for shore!"

"Where's Eiwen? Orgmund?" Skjor sounded completely breathless, his hair plastered around his face.

I shook my head. "I can't see them!"

Gods, no! They couldn't be dead!

And then suddenly I saw Orgmund break the surface of the water. Skjor and I cried his name. He spun in the water towards us, and yelled in panic, "Eiwen! She's gone under! I can't find her!"

No! She couldn't be gone!

"She never was protected by Hircine..." Skjor's voice faded into a frightened whimper.

"Get to shore!" _She's not dead, I know she's not!_ Wildly I splashed forward, adrenalin pulsing through my body, and the survival instinct I knew so well suddenly blazing warm as fire through my body. "I'll find her!"

"Aela!" I heard them cry out again, before I submerged.

The wolf growled within me, bitterly, scornfully, whispering that Eiwen was dead, that she was weak, that she would not have survived the fall. _Not helping!_ I screamed mentally, my eyes frantically searching underwater for the Bosmer. I swam deeper into the water, and then, suddenly, I saw her.

Eiwen.

She lay limp, lifeless, in the water, her eyes closed, her mouth partially open, unmoving.

_No!_

Wildly I swam towards her, and seized her. And I heard the wolf growl deep within me, and I felt life tremble faintly within the Bosmer. I heard her heart beat. She was alive!


	31. Chapter 30 - Dwemer Dangers, Part 2

Chapter Thirty

My lungs screamed. I needed air, desperately. I pulled Eiwen up with me as I kicked out towards the surface. Adrenalin seared through my body, giving me strength in these desperate times, until both of our heads broke above the water in an array of droplets.

"She made it!" I heard Skjor's cry close by, and turned in the water to see him and Orgmund crouched, dripping wet, on a distant bank. "Gods, tell me that she's alive!"

I kicked out towards the shore, pulling Eiwen behind me. I knew that Hircine once again had saved us. I could not have saved Eiwen if I did not possess the enhanced strength and the stamina the beastblood had permanently bestowed upon me. I swam quickly to the shore, and Skjor's and Orgmund's arms reached out, and heaved me and Eiwen up onto the pebbly bank.

The adrenalin died, and complete and utter exhaustion crashed over me, as suddenly as I had hit the surface of the lake after the hundreds-of-metres-plummet down deep underground and into the cavernous chamber. I slumped, my vision darkening, and felt Skjor steady me, letting me lean against him. Opening my eyes, I turned towards Eiwen, fear pulsing through my chest. _Please tell me she isn't dead, please Hircine, merciful Gods, spare her life...!_

Orgmund pushed hard against Eiwen's chest, desperately trying to restart her lungs. "Come on, girl, don't you dare die on me," he growled, pushing harder, more insistently on her chest.

And then I saw her eyelids flutter. Abruptly Eiwen lurched to the side, and she began to cough up lungful after lungful of water. Quickly Orgmund grasped her shoulders and steadied her as she retched up mouthful after mouthful of the cold lake water, until, gasping for air, Eiwen slumped, her eyelids flickering shut.

"Eiwen!" I whispered hoarsely.

"Aela..." Her voice was faint.

"Come on, girl, come back to us," Skjor urged quietly. "Come back! We still need you, you know."

"I'm...all right..." rasped the Bosmer. Stiffly, weakly, she tried to sit up. Orgmund helped her, crouching down beside her, and letting her lean against him as I was doing to Skjor. Gradually her eyes fluttered open again, and her breathing grew easier. Her face was so pale.

Silently I breathed in relief. _Thank you, Divines,_ I thought.

"Are we going to get out of here?" croaked Eiwen.

"Yes." Skjor straightened, making me slump forward abruptly, and looked straight forward. "There's a passage here. It leads up. It has to be the way out of this Gods-forsaken ruin."

My strength had returned. Quickly I pushed myself to my feet. I followed Skjor's gaze, and saw the passage he was indicating, right beside where we had come to rest. It led into the tall rock walls and wound steadily upwards, very dimly lit by the tiny glowing plants that grew along the base of the walls. "There has to be a way out," I murmured, determinedly.

Orgmund helped Eiwen stand. She leaned on him, still coughing a bit, though I sensed strength steadily returning to her shocked body. "Come on, we need to get out of here," Orgmund growled, almost determinedly. He turned to me, and nodded. "Lead the way."

I nodded. No need to ask why. My hand went again to Hircine's amulet, and then I walked forward, the first to enter the passage.

It wound steadily up. We were forced to walk in single file. Slowly we climbed, heading up and up, until suddenly I heard Eiwen whisper behind us, "Wait. Stop, Aela."

I paused obediently. There was the sound of scrabbling, and then Eiwen was beside me, no longer needing to lean on Orgmund for support, determination gleaming in her eyes. "There are Falmer nests here – see them, set up in the walls?" she whispered, indicating. I looked up, to see the dark blue-grey colour of a kind of tear-drop-shaped den, attached to the stone walls above us.

I sniffed the air, and curled my lip as an abruptly pungent stench filled my mouth. "Eurgh. So this is what the Falmer smell like?"

Eiwen looked puzzled for a moment, and then whispered, "Keep moving. And keep your weapon ready. The Falmer are twisted, vile creatures, who dwell in the deepest reaches of the world. And they hate anyone who dwells on the surface."

_The corrupted Snow Elves...once the indigenous of Skyrim itself._ I knew enough about the Falmer to know that though they were blind, their other senses were far more acute as a result. Perhaps more acute than even my own senses. I listened intently as we crept steadily up the passage. Skjor sounded as if he was hardly breathing.

And then suddenly I heard a hoarse, rasping cry, directly above us. I looked up, in time to see a dark shape suddenly plunge down from the shadows of the ceiling, the faint light outlining the glint of a blade, aimed straight at me.

Instantly I rolled forward, narrowly missing the Falmer's attack. It landed lightly on the ground and let out a hoarse shriek as it faced Eiwen, Orgmund and Skjor directly, blade poised. I heard Eiwen shout something to the others, but I didn't hear, because another Falmer suddenly dropped down in front of me. I stared, in horror, at its face. It was horribly twisted, eyeless, lines pulled back across its terribly pallid skin that looked as soft and as fragile as a worm's. It let out a hoarse shriek, and I saw needle-thin and needle-sharp teeth.

I drew my dagger. The Falmer leapt. I twisted to the side, but I was still numb with shock from the impact of slamming into the water. The dagger sliced lightly across my chest, and immediately a burning, searing pain filled every inch of my body.

_Poison,_ I realized faintly, feeling my vision cloud. Aileen had told me something about Falmer poison once. The Falmer hissed, sensing my waning strength, and leapt forward, dagger raised.

And then the wolf howled within me, and strength flowed through every muscle, every droplet of blood that coursed through my veins. The instinct to survive flared. I twisted suddenly to the side, and pushed forward with my dagger. It sank without resistance up to the hilt into its soft, slimy skin. The Falmer let out a startled shriek, and then slumped, falling away from my dagger, as soft as a fish.

The other Falmer had been disposed of. Quickly the others caught up to me.

"You're hurt!" Alarm flared in Eiwen's eyes as she glanced at the wound in my chest.

"I'm fine, seriously," I replied, knowing that my Father would protect me until we got an antidote. But I knew I didn't have much time. As small as the poison was, it was steadily going to spread, and reach my heart. I gripped my dagger determinedly, and pushed forward. "Come on. We've got to get out of here!"

Quickly we hurried up the rest of the passage. More Falmer leapt from the shadows above our heads and attacked. Each time, we would fight, and kill them, though they were growing more determined, the hate which I could see from their eyeless faces and flowing in waves from their mutated bodies astonishingly powerful. Had these creatures once been tall and proud people, a sentient race on Skyrim's face, as we were?

Light flowed ahead. We emerged, to find ourselves on a narrow pathway made of stone, high above the lake, which glittered far below us. But I turned my head up to the ceiling, and the blue specks were still distant, and I knew that we were pretty deep underground. We had a long way to go yet.

"You don't quite see a sight like this everyday, do you?" Orgmund's voice was hoarse with awe.

"As long as there's a way out," Eiwen said grimly.

Skjor frowned, sniffing the air. "I can scent more of those damned blind-eyed bastards coming our way," he warned, gripping the handle of his longsword harder than ever.

Immediately I sheathed my dagger and shrugged my bow from my shoulders. It wasn't damaged, fortunately. "Stay close to me," I warned the others, fighting back the sickening waves of nausea that were beginning to churn uncomfortably in my belly. Undoubtedly, the Falmer poison was starting to kick in.

Before we had taken a few steps, however, further down the precarious narrow stone trail, winding sharply towards the other side of the enormous chamber, I heard the wolf suddenly growl within me. I looked up sharply. Five shapes were slowly creeping along the distant path, moving confidently across the stone despite the fact they were blind.

"Shit," breathed Orgmund.

"And here they come," I murmured. I glanced at Eiwen, who nodded and pulled her bow down from her shoulders, and tugged out one of her arrows. I pulled out one of my own, and drew back, aiming carefully. We could have a chance to take two of the blighters down before they realized that they were under attack, and that there were enemies very nearby.

But it seemed that their sense of smell was just as sharp as our own. Suddenly they stopped, and they let out a hoarse, angry scream which reverberated around the enormous chamber. I released my arrow; guided by Hircine's blessing, the arrow did not miss its target, striking hard into the shoulder of one of the more heavily-armoured Falmer, coated in some sort of greyish chitin. It cried out and staggered backwards in pain, though I realized with dismay that I had missed a vital area. It would survive, and it was enraged.

Eiwen released her arrow. But exhaustion was beginning to affect her judgement, and the arrow just fell short of the Falmer she had meant to strike. Their angry screams exploded suddenly around the chamber, and I knew that we had been discovered.

With frightening speed, they all began to sprint along the stone ledge towards us. Skjor narrowed his eyes, and Orgmund frowned, bracing himself. I pulled another arrow from my quiver and fired, and it struck another Falmer, this time puncturing its throat and killing it straight away. But there were still four more to deal with – one for each of us, I realized with dismay.

"Aela, get back!" I heard Eiwen suddenly cry.

Before I could ask why, I saw why. One of the damned Falmer suddenly drew a strange bow from its back, arrow already fastened to the string, and it was aiming straight at my chest. Instantly I threw myself to the side, and the arrow narrowly missed clipping my shoulder. As I picked myself up off the ground, I heard the screams of the Falmer mingle with the roars of rage as Skjor and Orgmund brought their weapons swinging around. There was the sound of clanging metal, and a shriek of pain from one of the Falmer; Skjor had managed to land a stunning blow to one of the mutated Elves.

I readied another arrow, paused, and then slackened my grip on the string slightly and fired. The arrow did a loose arc above Skjor's and Orgmund's heads, and then came thudding down to the ground. I heard another Falmer cry out in agony.

Then suddenly I heard Skjor cry out with pain, and he was thrown aside, and suddenly the heavily-armoured Falmer sprang forward with frightening speed, sightless face fixed upon me. I heard Eiwen scream a name; it sounded like "Nightmaster". And then the Falmer was on me.

Training flashed in my mind. Before it could plunge its foul blade into my chest, I had carried on the roll, forcing the Falmer off my body. It landed on its feet. Eiwen loosed another arrow, and it drove into the Falmer's back. It hoarsely cried out, staggering forwards, and then whirled around, and I saw Eiwen's face pale.

"You aren't going to get her, you bloody monster!" Rage filled every corner of my mind as I watched the Nightmaster Falmer suddenly leap towards Eiwen. Adrenalin shot through me. I drew another arrow, and released, and it drove into the Falmer's leg. It stumbled, falling short of Eiwen, who only just managed to leap back in time, and the creature uttered an incomprehensible word of pain in its own foul tongue.

Nearby, I heard a Falmer squeal with agony, and whipping around briefly, I saw Skjor tug his blade effortlessly from where he had driven it through the heart of one of the Falmer he had been fighting, and brought it swinging around to cleave the skull of an unwary second. Orgmund sidestepped another Falmer's attack, but the blade whisked around, and sliced into his armour. He bellowed in agony, and I realized he had been wounded.

Then I heard Eiwen cry out in warning and I whipped around in time to see the Nightmaster push itself to its feet, its face twisted in a snarl of pure hate. Eiwen fired another arrow, but it only embedded itself in its thick chitin-like armour.

"Eiwen!" I cried. I drew my dagger, at the same time the Nightmaster whipped around, and in a swift movement that could only match a striking snake, had leapt towards me, weapon in hand. I knew there wasn't enough time to sidestep it, so I threw myself backwards, and lifted my dagger to parry the blow. It came harder than I expected, and I stumbled backwards. The Falmer, perhaps sensing my weakness, pressed the advantage, and before I knew it, we were engaged in swordplay.

I had expected, that creature being blind, for its movements to be clumsy. But it was completely relaxed where it stood, fighting me as though it were sighted. The feeling of nausea grew, until everything was spinning.

Everything happened in the space of a few seconds; suddenly a grip as cold as ice fastened itself around my wrist, forcing my arm upwards, the dagger slipping from my fingers, exposing my chest. With a hiss, it drove its blade down.

And then adrenalin tore through me, and I dragged myself to the side, forcing the Nightmaster to stumble. As I landed, I became aware that there was no ground beneath my head, and sharply I dropped to one side. The Nightmaster twisted over the edge and fell, screaming, towards the shimmering water beneath. But it still had its vice-like grip around my wrist. I felt myself beginning to be dragged over as well –

And then Skjor was there, steadying me. One hand hacked at the gruesome arm with my dagger until it released me. With a shriek the Nightmaster fell. And then I was being pulled back over, back onto the narrow trail.

"Thanks," I managed to gasp, the moment I caught my breath.

"Are you all right?" Eiwen's eyes were frantic as she and Skjor helped me stand. I would have resisted their assistance, if the world had not been dizzily spinning before my eyes. The nausea was growing. I found myself wondering how a Falmer poison could be so potent to their enemies.

"Fine," I lied, trying to blink the dizziness away.

"We've got to keep moving before more of those blind-eyed bastards comes our way," Orgmund growled. Somehow, his hard, firm voice broke through my slurring senses, and I straightened, managing to focus on him. I saw blood run down his leg, and a glazed look in his eye. He had been poisoned as well. Were we going to make it at all?

I felt my dagger being pressed into my palm. I sheathed it quickly, and then picked up my bow. At the same time I felt myself lose balance and lurch forward unsteadily. Skjor was at my side, helping me rise again.

"You sure you're okay?" Concern was flashing in his bright silver eye.

"I'm fine," I said, determinedly, almost snarling, straightening myself to full height, pushing Skjor's hand from my shoulder. I couldn't let myself weaken, not now, not ever. They were relying on me, relying on Hircine, to protect them.

But Eiwen wasn't one of us.

She didn't understand.

Shock made me stop dead still. I turned, meeting her eyes. For a moment, they were puzzled. Perplexed, even.

_She isn't one of us._

The words flashed in my mind.

_She doesn't have his protection._

In dreamlike slowness, I looked past Eiwen, back to the passageway we had just entered. To the Falmer who stood at the mouth of the chamber, bow readied, arrow pointing straight at her chest. To the face, cold and blank, twisted in utmost hatred. She followed my gaze. She turned.

_Hircine isn't protecting her!_

The arrow shot through the air before I could make another sound. Before I could move. Before any of us could do anything. Before the realization could truly sink in.

And it met its mark.

In her chest.

In her heart.

Eiwen's eyes widened in an unspeakable scream of agony.

One hand went up to her chest, to the arrow driven within. She took one step backwards from the force of the arrow. I heard Skjor gasp in horror. I heard Orgmund cry out in a wordless bellow of rage. I said nothing. I only felt my arms moving, felt the wolf crying out within me. I drew the arrow. My blood was burning. I didn't think, didn't hesitate, as I loosed it. It sung straight and it sung true. It followed my desire. To drive it as deeply as I could into the chest of the Falmer who had killed my friend.

The dull _thud_ of the arrow striking the Falmer's chest was like music to my ears. I watched it fall, with a final rasping gasp as its life escaped its body.

I lowered my bow. And I heard a gasp, a desperate, ragged inhale of breath, and I realized that she was alive. Eiwen was still alive.

I turned quickly, the bow falling from my grasp, and knelt at her side. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, fixed upon the ceiling. She was gasping for breath, but she could not speak. Wildly her hands flailed, scrabbling at the air, searching for something I could not see.

I grasped her hand. She tightened her grip around my fingers. And she whispered one name.

"Aela."

"Eiwen." My voice was hoarse, was rough with grief.

With great difficulty, Eiwen slowly turned her fading gaze to me.

"Get them out of here," she whispered. "And leave me."

I shook my head. "No, Eiwen. No, you're not going to leave us. You're never going to leave us. We still need you. You can't abandon those who need you!" The memory of Jouane in Rorikstead, of his words to me that drove over and over into my heart, words sharp with grief, of my guilt at leaving my mother when she needed me the most, came to my mind, forcing the words from my mouth, to Eiwen.

"Aela," Eiwen breathed. "The others need you more than they need me."

I didn't know what to say. I tried to say something. But my throat had closed up.

"More Falmer will come," Eiwen whispered. Her voice was so faint. "You will only be slowed if you take me now. And there is no hope for me. I will die. And I am ready to die. It is my time. The poison has reached my heart."

Her voice grew a tiny bit stronger. "But you still have hope, Aela. Get out of here. Cleanse your wounds with water from the surface world. It will cure the poison. It will get it away from your heart. You will survive. You must survive, for the Companions' honour, Aela. You must protect our friends. You must never abandon them."

And then her gaze became faint, became faraway. "Hunt well, Aela," she whispered.

And then her eyes dulled.

Her hand slackened in my grasp.

A final breath escaped her body.

I sensed the glimmer of life within her flicker once more, and then die. Pass into shadow.

She was gone.

No...

I stared, unable to believe it, not wanting to believe it. Eiwen was gone.

She was dead.

The words struck me, over and over.

She was dead, she was dead, she was dead...

Eiwen, my friend, my trusted friend, my beloved friend in the mead hall, one of the first Companions who had welcomed me into Jorrvaskr, who I had sat beside at the table for over five years, who I had been on so many contracts with during my time, who I had compared archery skills to over and over, who I had first seen as a fighter, a warrior, the one who brawled against Derrick, unafraid to stand up to her beliefs and her honour...was gone.

Forever.

I stared, not wanting to believe it, but knowing I had to accept the truth.

She was dead.

The words intoned themselves one final time in my mind. And then they faded, as Eiwen's life had faded from this world, her spirit escaping to...

Where would it go? Sovngarde may not open itself to an Elf. Only Nords could ever get into the spiritual valley, where the dead there lived forever in starlit meadows, who forever sang songs in the great Halls of Sovngarde. And she would never enter the Hunting Grounds. She had never become a member of the Circle. She had never understood the glories of Hircine, had never understood what it was like to become a part of the pack, a beast of the wilds, a true hunter of the world.

So where would it go?

To wherever the Elves believe their spirits would go in death.

I waited for the tears to fall. They did not come. But I could not speak, could not move from the shock of the realization that never again would I hear Eiwen's voice. Never again would she sit beside me at the table.

She was dead because of me.

Because I hadn't seen the Falmer who had ended her life.

Because Hircine did not watch over her.

Because I had been relied upon to protect her. Lemaat so faithfully believed me to be able to protect all of us, because I was Hircine's chosen. But my Father had not protected Eiwen. I had been expected to. My status as His Hound should have protected her.

No...

"Aela." A voice, in the darkness of my grief, came through to my mind. "We must go."

"She's dead," I whispered.

"And she died well," Skjor said gently. His voice drew me back to the present, to the nausea that was quickly becoming agony, to the feeling of numbing that was spreading slowly, faintly, but growing stronger, over my limbs. "But she's gone. You heard her last words. We must leave her, and we must get out of here."

She's gone.

"Eiwen," I breathed, as I allowed Skjor to gently pull me to my feet. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," said Orgmund, and his harsh voice brought anger to my own.

"She died because I didn't see the Falmer!" I yelled, and my voice echoed around the chamber. "She died because I didn't protect her, to look after her, the way that I was meant to! She died and she's never going to return to Jorrvaskr!"

Rage was clouding my senses, and I heard the wolf snarl within me, the Bloodlust coming on. "Let them come," I growled, my voice darkening, deepening, and I knew the change was to happen any moment. "Let them come! I will tear them limb from limb. I'll rip them apart, feast on their hearts, scatter their entrails over the ground!"

"Aela! Don't do this!" Skjor's voice was desperate, pleading.

"LET THEM COME!" My voice roared around the chamber, echoing around the stone, pure defiance channeled into utter rage, utter grief, brimming with dark anger. My skin was beginning to prickle, the wolf was howling within me, urging to come forward.

"Aela!" My hands were wrenched behind my back in a grip like iron.

"No! Let me go, Skjor!" Furiously I struggled, the wolf snarling in anger, hurling my weight against Skjor's grip. But he was stronger. He was more developed. He had been a werewolf for many years. He resisted, pulling me back.

"Aela, stop!" Skjor shouted, and his voice was firm, was hard, tore through my wordless rage, silencing the wild cries of the wolf within me, clamouring to be released, to come forward.

Then there was silence. My rage dwindled into a barely-flickering flame. And then vanished.

Skjor released me. The wolf did not come. I had no energy to call it on.

"We need to move," he murmured. "For Eiwen's sake, you cannot die in here."

I felt something being pushed into my hands. A bow. My bow.

I felt the wood, the metal over it, the texture. And I felt strength trickle back into my arms, clearing my mind, setting determination in place of my grief.

"We need to move," Skjor repeated quietly.

And this time, we moved. All of us.

* * *

How we managed to escape the rest of the catacombs of Kagrenzel, I'm not sure. All I remember is that whatever Falmer appeared before us, I dispatched of. I killed them without mercy. I slew them all. And then we were climbing, higher and higher, perhaps for hours, perhaps for seconds, following the corridor that led only upwards.

And then it dropped down, and we could see light, and hear the mutterings of water. We burst through into a cavern full of bandits.

They could have killed us. Anything could have killed us. But no; we killed them. Whatever pain struck me, I did not feel, because grief was the only agony I could bear. That I _would_ bear. I would accept no other injury's pain. Only Eiwen's loss hurt me now.

We followed the creek, further down, winding through the cavern. And then we emerged.

Into daylight.

Straight into the waters of the surface world.

The pain of the poison began to leave me, receding from my heart, the numbness in my arms fading. Eiwen was right. She had saved my life. Forever I would be indebted to her. And so would Orgmund. He had been very close to joining the Hunting Grounds when we had stumbled from that cave and into the small basin of water directly outside. But we had survived. We had made it. We were alive.

And she was not. She had died.

Eiwen was gone.

And our purpose, I realized blankly, as I pulled myself onto the bank. We had not fulfilled our purpose. The orb had slipped through our fingers. It had vanished. We had been trapped, and fallen almost to our deaths, and Eiwen had died to the Falmer, for nothing.

We would never receive the rest of the gold for our contract. But that was the least of my cares. All that I could feel was grief.

So powerful that it stopped any tears from falling. What good were tears?

I heard Orgmund say that he would get the horses. He headed back up the hill. I remembered falling into Skjor's embrace. So warm. So welcoming. I could have stayed there forever. We sat down on the grass, and waited, patiently, for Orgmund to return with the horses. And we said nothing. No words could heal me. I wondered if I was forever going to be damaged. Ornith had watched Taija die before his eyes. The Silver Hand had slain her. He had never been right since. I knew that I could see the grief in his eyes, whenever we dared mention her name beneath the roof of Jorrvaskr.

I had not properly understood his grief. I had not known Taija. I had barely spoken to her. Known anything about her. Her death had struck me as a blow of shock, but it had not inspired grief. Sadness at her passing, but not grief.

Now I understood it perfectly.

Oh, Gods, how was Ornith going to take this news? I knew that he and Eiwen had always been close. Close because they were the Elves, viewed upon by many Nords as traitors to the Empire, because their kindred had fought alongside the Aldmeri Dominion, in the Great War, many years ago. Over ten years ago.

Eiwen was gone. My Bosmeri friend was gone forever.

Soon the horses returned. They were subdued. Perhaps they sensed my grief. I mounted, barely paying attention to whatever Stormy was going to do today. Was he going to take advantage of me and dash off into the wilderness? Could any creature be so heartless as to what I was feeling?

But no; he was quiet, obedient, realizing that Dune's rider had not turned up, that I was very sad for some reason which he finally pieced together. And so he obeyed whatever movement I made to him. Following without complaint. His spirit subsided.

I looked back briefly at the cave where we had fled from. Nestled in the mountains high above was Kagrenzel. And in between, lying forever in the catacombs of Kagrenzel, was Eiwen.

Farewell. The same words came to my lips, the same words that Aileen had spoken to me, when she and her brother and Fang departed from Jorrvaskr one last time, heading back to High Rock.

"Farewell, Eiwen," I whispered.

The breeze could have spat the words back in my face. But instead, the words were carried, up and up into the mountains, through the tiniest cracks between the doors, through the trapdoor, whistling down the long chamber that wound steadily downwards into the great underground lake, and echoing around the cavern. The words of goodbye.

* * *

**A/N: RIP Eiwen :( Please please please leave me a review! I love 'em so much. And the next chapter is soon to come out; we say goodbye, but not permanently, to another character in the Companions. Don't go anywhere! The next chapter will be up as soon as possible.  
**


	32. Chapter 31 - In Mourning

Chapter Thirty-One

The ride to Kagrenzel took two days. The ride back to Whiterun seemed to take no time at all.

And yet it seemed to take an infinite amount of time.

I barely slept. I barely ate. All I could think of were Eiwen's last words to me, before the poison stopped her heart, before her life left her body, vanishing into nothingness.

And then we were riding again. Riding back to Whiterun. Back past the carriage driver, back to the stables. I dismounted. I didn't speak. I couldn't really think clearly at the moment. Who was I? Who was I, really? I was someone who had let a friend die. But I couldn't have done anything...could I?

Skjor didn't think I could have done anything. He knew Eiwen longer than I had. And Orgmund had known Eiwen for much longer than either of us.

We walked up to Jorrvaskr. We saw the townsfolk. We didn't smile, we didn't stop to speak to them. Perhaps they realized that something was wrong, because they watched after us, and they whispered. They thought we couldn't hear. But we could. Our wolves whispered to us what they whispered behind their backs. And I felt my heart throb painfully as I realized they did not know who was the missing Companion.

The Nords here were heartless, I said to myself. If I had not returned, would they have known? Perhaps. Maybe in time, they would have noticed my absence, begin to wonder, ask where was that clever huntress who supplied the innkeeper with meat. If they learned of my death, they would grieve for me. If I told them that Eiwen was dead, they would look confused, ask themselves "Who's Eiwen?" and ask us the same question. And even then they wouldn't have grieved, because they would have discovered she was a Bosmer, an elf, and in their minds, a traitor to the Nords, whose vile kindred had succumbed to the ways of the Dominion.

But it was better in Jorrvaskr. We entered. Everyone was inside, as outside was cold and damp, overcast and grey as Skyforge steel, and so they waited quietly for the day to clear up so they could go and spend some relaxation time outside.

They were all there when they realized who wasn't with us.

"Where's Eiwen?" asked Lemaat, sounding worried.

I lifted my eyes to him. I knew he could see my grief. "Dead," I responded.

There was noise. I couldn't make sense of it. People leapt to their feet, clapping their hands to their mouths in horror, immediately swamping us, desperate to know what had happened. I couldn't answer. My throat had closed up. Orgmund pushed his way through the crowd. He helped me find somewhere to sit down, and Skjor seated himself right beside me.

Kodlak, the Harbinger, heard there and then. He had been at the table. Now he approached, and he knelt down in front of me. How strange. Many years ago he had done the same thing to Ornith. Gently coaxed the truth out from the Dunmer warrior. The truth of Taija's death from his unwilling lips.

It had been five years since another member of the Companions had fallen.

He took his hands in mine. I reluctantly looked up into his eyes.

But all he said was, "You're safe."

Was I? Was anywhere safe anymore? And then he straightened, and walked away, and called to Orgmund, and the pair went downstairs into the undercroft. And I felt Skjor wrap his arm around my shoulder and I relaxed into him, as I had done outside the cave while I waited for Orgmund to bring the horses back.

"She's gone, isn't she?"

I looked up. It was Ornith. And I saw the grief in his red eyes, and I knew that he was suffering just as much as I. If not more. He had known Eiwen since they first came to Jorrvaskr all those years ago.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice much unlike my own. Oh, Gods. Please help me.

I saw Ornith sigh. His face became firm and set. His crimson gaze lowered. I knew that he must be screaming inside. I wondered what he was feeling, besides grief. Did he feel rage? Rage against those who had taken Eiwen's life? It was difficult for me to read his emotions while his eyes were lowered. So I gave up. I had no energy, no nothing left.

The day passed. I didn't eat or drink. I didn't do anything except sit, quietly, with Skjor at my side. All I did was gently caress the wolf head token that was hung around my throat. And I thought of Hircine. I thought of nobody but Hircine.

No. I thought of my Father just now, and I would keep thinking about him, and wonder. Could I reach him? He could reach me. He gave me the amulet. There must be something more to the amulet than just simply being there as a blessing from him. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the wolf's head. And I discovered another potential. The potential to commune.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I stood not in Jorrvaskr, but in an endless void. It took no shape. All I could see was wisps of silver and grey and black, mingling into one colour that shimmered with several. I heard the wails of a wolf, the braying of an elk, the shrill cry of a bird as it took flight in a whirl of wings...and then all the sounds of the wild melted into one irresistible voice, so much more satisfying than the odd, echoing whisper that issued from the unmoving mouth of the spectral stag. His true voice. Unbridled.

_Child, come into my embrace, for I can feel your tears._

"I do not cry," I murmured, and yet I felt my voice was not my own. Moving my lips was difficult. It was hard to form the words. There was a harsher edge to my tongue, and a bark thrummed behind each word I said.

_Of course you do not, my daughter,_ whispered Hircine, though nothing appeared before my eyes. I heard the crack of a twig as a deer emerged from a thicket, the growl of a fox as it trotted out from its warren. All things to do with the woodlands. _And your grief is unabated. You miss your Bosmer friend, do you not?_

"I thought you would protect her."

Rustle of feathers. Pounding of hooves. The growl of a sabre cat.

_It was not in my power to protect one who was not with me,_ said the Father of Manbeasts. _Without her belief, without her loyalty, I could not save her. And it is not up to me to decide the fates of mortals._

"You decided mine."

An angry roar. The sabre cat bellowed in the grasslands. A hawk screeched.

_Fate is for you to decide,_ argued Hircine. _Destiny is a path which you must follow. And which I laid out for you. Fate is inescapable, but you can, at least, make your own choices._

For a moment, there was silence. And then I whispered, "Why, Father? Why her?"

Did I really expect comfort from a Daedric Prince? Who had all power over me? Who had decided my destiny, and where my paws would lead me to in the very end?

A softly-muffled footstep in the grass. The snap of a bear trap. The sleepy, trembling steps of a mammoth.

_It was her time, and not for me to decide,_ said the Huntsman simply. _I had the power to watch over my servants in the dark ruins of Kagrenzel. But not the Elf._

"I sought comfort, not truth."

The rustle of an owl's wings were heard in flight. The bat could see but not speak. The frog could not swim. The fish drowned. All impossible things to my reality. Not so to my Lord.

_Truth, my child, you will receive from a Daedric Prince,_ said Hircine. _My brethren delight in twisting it, manipulating mortals to do their bidding. Those lucky enough to win our blessings and our gifts do not seek comfort from our kind. It is not in our nature to gift without reason, daughter. We gift to those who we see as worthy._

"Was I worthy? Am I worthy?"

A rabbit's paws pounded over the ground. A bear let out a sleepy snort. A pheasant landed amongst the grasslands to feed.

_Oh, you are very worthy, my child, for you have honoured me with your willingness to hunt, your desire to hunt, and that befits me,_ smiled Hircine. As he smiled, I could hear the sudden whirring of the wings of a thousand sparrows as they all took flight at once. _But do not mistake this for favouritism. You are clever in discovering the amulet's potentials, but it is not my only gift. Remember your place, mortal, and I shall remember my own._

I opened my eyes.

No time had passed in the time it had taken for me to speak to my Father. The fire still crackled. Light still poured into the windows, pooling on the floor. But Jorrvaskr was empty. Skjor sat loyally beside me. I think he was speaking to me, but I couldn't understand the words. But gradually, I could. And when he spoke, it was without the sounds of the hunt preceding his voice.

"Let's go for a walk."

I shook my head. I didn't want to see the eyes of the townsfolk on me. They would ask questions as to why I was so sad, why I wasn't hunting, why I wasn't my usual prideful self. That I would have to tell them of Eiwen's death, and that they would care less for her than for me...

"Not far. Just down to the Gildergreen."

The Gildergreen. The night Samiith and I had found Farkas and Vilkas, he had mentioned the Gildergreen was where he had gone to spend time after Taija's death. It had helped, hearing Kynareth murmur through the branches.

Perhaps it would help me. Perhaps it would begin to help heal my own torn heart.

I rose. Skjor was beside me. Together we walked out through the front doors of Jorrvaskr. There was nobody else whose presence I craved more than his.

* * *

Today was the tenth of First Seed. Many days since her death. I didn't even want to speak her name in my mind anymore.

We sat at the table. All of us. I sat in my place where the members of the Circle sat. Where I could look over the Companions without difficulty. Where I sat beside Skjor and Samiith. Close to Kodlak, my Harbinger. And all around us were the rest of us. Farkas and Vilkas, in mine and Skjor's old seating. Myllasa beside her brother Lemaat, who sat on the edges of where the Circle sat. Dasha and Patros beside them. They looked as if they were grieving as well. To someone beyond the Circle. But I could look into their eyes and tell that they weren't grieving at all. Why should they? They'd only been with the Companions for...how long, now? Eight months, I think.

I saw no sadness. Only thoughtfulness. And my bitterness towards the Imperials grew that night.

"Friends," began Kodlak solemnly, "We all know of the terrible event in the Dwemer ruin of Kagrenzel."

There was a sorrowful murmur of assent.

"One of our number, bold and young Eiwen, fell to the Falmer there." Kodlak slowly raised his flagon of mead. "And so we drink to her and only to her tonight. For it is all that any of us can do now, to honour the memory of her presence, here in Jorrvaskr."

"We drink to you, fallen sister," we murmured, as we lifted our flagons. I said nothing. I don't think I could have. But my eyes flashed briefly to where Dasha and Patros sat. They had raised their flagons obligingly, but they had not spoken one word either.

_But they could have!_ Fury flashed through every corner of my mind, and the wolf growled. And then the fury dwindled. Here was not the time, of all times, to be thinking of anger. Pointedly I turned away from them and back to Kodlak.

The Harbinger did not speak for a moment. And then, in a low voice, he murmured, "Before the ancient flame..."

"We grieve," said the Companions, in a low and mourning voice, as one.

Beside me, Samiith said in a voice huskier than usual, "At this loss..."

"We weep," we said, in a voice scarcely louder than an echo.

Orgmund's voice rang out next, hard, strong, firm. "For the fallen..."

"We shout," we said, our voices growing stronger, echoing our anger at her loss.

And then a hush settled over the table. Beside me, Skjor continued. "And for the rest..."

"We take our leave."

Silence descended over the table. We drank. We set our flagons down. And now what, I wondered mockingly. Do we sing and dance and fool around and get drunk as if she had never existed? Forget that only a few days ago she had been alive, sitting at the table, laughing at our foolishness, clapping to a song.

Only Ornith rose.

All eyes turned to the Dunmer. Nobody spoke.

His red eyes looked out at nothing. He stood beside his chair. I wondered if he was going to say something. Perhaps to honour her memory. To relive a few precious moments of what he could remember, their time with one another.

Instead, he began to sing.

It was the Elvish song, I realized. The Elvish song which none of us but he and Eiwen could understand, but which was a haunting, beautiful melody. Ornith sang, and I realized at once what was different about the song. It was sung in the commonspeech. So we could understand. Just this once. And the last time.

_Cry the birds in autumn trees,_

_T'well by twilight, fall by midnight,_

_Feathers stirred by faintest breeze,_

_How faintly they all take to flight._

_The fox prowls in the shadowed ferns,_

_The beehive throbs with pulse of tasks,_

_The wolf runs crying, alone he yearns,_

_The serpent rests, in Sun he basks._

_Unending though our seasons change,_

_Let us never be alone;_

_Divines look over us, let not estrange_

_Our promise to thy Jode and Jone._

Ornith returned. His gaze snapped to all those around us, and in a low voice, husky with grief, he murmured, "That was Eiwen's song of the forests of Valenwood. One that has been passed through her family for generations. And now I pass it to you, her brothers and sisters, that you may remember it, for her brother who remembered and preserved this precious song cannot stay here."

"What are you saying?" asked Myllasa, softly, hesitantly.

Ornith sighed. "I cannot remain. There is too much death, I feel. I could take the lives of those who would gladly take my own. But I cannot linger while death presses in my mind. I watched my sister die before my eyes. And my closest friend has fallen into the shadowy arms of death. I cannot stay, and watch the rest of you pass into Ethereal."

There was a silence after his little speech. And then, Vilkas asked, slightly hesitantly, "But where will you go?"

Ornith's red gaze turned to Vilkas. "Home," he said simply. "Home to Morrowind. To the land of my people. And to my family, who will greet me with welcoming arms." His voice became more certain. "Yes, I will go back to my homeland, the place where I will be among my own people. And though my heart breaks to leave my family behind, my family of such diversity and acceptance in the mead hall of Jorrvaskr, I know that it is the right thing for me to do."

The Dunmer turned to his Harbinger. "I wish to be respectfully discharged from the service and brotherhood of the Companions. I fear I will be of no more use to you. This recent news has struck me hard. I will never raise a sword to take a life again. Life is too precious to waste."

"You are respectfully and honourably discharged, Ornith, my brother," said Kodlak. "It will be of great sorrow to lose you, but I can understand most willingly why you cannot stay here among us. But come; share one last meal and night among the halls of Jorrvaskr, not as a Shield-Brother, but as a friend."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Ornith's face. He sat down.

I saw the relief in his eyes. The relief and...and the freedom. He had been released. His body had been released, and so had his soul. He was regretful to leave the Companions, but he knew it was for the best. It was the best thing he could do to his Shield-Siblings now. And then he would go home, and live out the rest of his extended Elven years in Morrowind.

But I felt as if I was losing another. First Aileen and Derrick, and then Eiwen, and now Ornith. Four Companions, gone before the year had done another circle since I had become a member of the Circle. How many more was I to lose? How many, I asked myself.

We ate and we drank. We sang songs. But without the same happiness that we usually sang them by. And then we retired to bed. Vignar Gray-Mane, who had not said one word during the meal, returned to his own family. Ornith and the other whelps went down to their chambers. And then the Circle disbanded from around the table, and we all went down to our own quarters.

My room was private and wonderful. I had my own chest of drawers to put my clothes in, a safe to put my gold in, a mannequin to store my armour upon, a chest and a rack to keep my weapons within. I had been resting within this room for eight months. But it was lonely at times to sleep without company. And tonight would be even more lonesome.

I changed quietly, setting my armour upon the mannequin, putting my weapons in my chest. I would not do hunting tonight. I would not allow the wolf to come forward tonight. I had no energy to hunt, to concentrate on the prey. And so I lay down in the bed, and allowed sleep to claim me.

But it was difficult. I had not had one night's restful slumber since I accepted the beastblood. Tormented images of Eiwen, falling, her eyes widened in a soundless scream of pain, the arrow protruding from her chest, played themselves over and over before my closed eyes. Again and again I jerked awake, sometimes with a gasp, as if I had been struck by the arrow.

The wolf called for the hunt. But I would not change.

And then I heard a soft knock at the door.

Shakily I drew myself to my feet and opened it a crack. And then fully. Skjor quietly walked into my quarters, and I shut and locked the door behind him, as I did always, in case I did make the change unintentionally in my dreams.

He was dressed not in his wolf armour, but in a simple tunic. He looked different than when he usually wore his wolf armour.

"What do you want, Skjor?" I asked, a bit wearily, as I went and sat down on the bed.

Skjor, to my surprise, came and sat down beside me. "To keep you company," he said gently.

I gave a hollow laugh. "Since when have you wanted to keep me company, particularly at night?" I asked him. "Tongues are going to wag in Jorrvaskr if someone finds out."

"Nobody will find out."

Skjor gently stroked my russet hair, smoothing the creases in it. I looked up into his one eye that wasn't blind, his silver eye_. It is the same colour as my own_, I thought to myself, abstractly interested.

"I heard you," murmured Skjor. "And so I want to make sure you're safe."

"I don't need protecting. I can defend myself."

Skjor rested one hand against my cheek. "Not from nightmares. Only companionship can cure that."

Gently he lay down on my bed, pulling me down so I lay beside him. "And when you lie helpless, only another can chase away the dangers that threaten to come," he added, in a soft voice. Husky, slightly hoarse, and yet it sent tiny shivers running up and down my spine. I realized that it was warmth. The bed had been too cold for me.

Now I slept in the warmth, the warmth which Skjor's arms and body offered me. And for the first time in a long time, both of us slept soundly.

* * *

I woke early in the morning. Skjor slumbered near me, but I did not want to disturb him. As silently as a mouse, I gently teased myself away from his arms, and rose, feeling very refreshed. Dreamless sleep and not being disturbed once throughout the rest of the night had done wonders to me.

I turned the key in the lock and slipped outside. The stone was cold beneath my bare feet. I wondered if I should head downstairs and take a bath.

But before I did so, I saw movement at the far end of the undercroft. And then I saw Ornith quietly slip out from the whelps' chambers, and begin to head upstairs.

Quietly I followed him. I wasn't going to let him leave my life, not without me saying goodbye to him. He had been a good friend to us all.

As I emerged into the upper level, I saw Ornith looking almost wistfully at the dancing golden flames. He turned as the undercroft door clicked shut behind me, and didn't seem surprised to see me standing at the top of the stairs.

"I came to see you off," I said.

Ornith chuckled. "Really? I'm honoured."

I came and stood at his side. "So whereabouts in Morrowind are you going to head to?"

"Travel through the Dunmeth Pass and into Blacklight, and then head south to my hometown Narsis," said Ornith. "It's a long journey, but I can manage. I've been on long journeys before, and in the frozen landscape of Skyrim, where it's cold even with the sun out, the journeys have been difficult. Now journeying through my homeland...that's something I will be skilled in. After all, who better to move through a country than one who belongs to that country?"

He turned. I saw joy, pure joy, gleaming in his crimson eyes.

"What do you expect to find in Narsis?" I asked.

"My family. My sister, and her children," said Ornith. "She has two beautiful children. I have not once met them in my life, but I intend to change that. I'll find a job in Narsis, get myself some work as a lumberjack perhaps, a peaceful life, away from the endless fighting and bloodshed."

I nodded. "I think that's exactly what you need, Ornith."

"I think a bit of peace is what I need as well, Aela."

He rested one hand, grey as ash, upon my shoulder, and looked deeply into my eyes. "Stay safe forever, Aela, and may the twin moons safeguard your path," Ornith said to me, formally. "I hope that my training stays in your head long enough to protect you against your enemies, should they draw too near."

I smiled. "Should they draw too near, I have other things in mind."

It was my first smile in days.

Ornith smiled back. "And do not let your heart be ruled by grief. Eiwen is in a better place now, remember that."

Then I watched him turn and leave Jorrvaskr, not looking back, letting the doors softly close behind him.

If only I had remembered his words. Do not let your heart be ruled by grief. If I had remembered those words, long into the future, that one little pearl of wisdom, then perhaps, just perhaps, it might have been different. For Kodlak, I mean. For everyone.

If I had realized exactly how strongly those words had been associated with Olava's prophecy towards me, then perhaps I would have listened. I would have heeded him. I would not have let my heart be ruled by grief.

But I didn't realize it then. I didn't realize it until it was told more directly to my face. All I knew was that his words brought comfort to my aching heart. I knew that with Eiwen's passing, there would be sorrow, and grief, and mourning. But then, a dawn would come, and with it, the sun's rays would warm me, and bring hope, and life. Life goes on, I knew. Life would forever go on. And that in times of sadness, when sunshine breaks through the rainclouds, it could only get better.

* * *

**A/N: And I'll have to call a halt to writing for a little while, guys! Will try to have the next chapter uploaded tomorrow, if I can.  
**

**Eiwen's song I invented myself, do not copy it, or I shall be very annoyed. Coming soon: chapter thirty-two. Guess what the Companions discover? And guess who gets sent to recover it?  
**

**PS leaving me a review gets me writing quicker! :)  
**


	33. Chapter 32 - Demanding Honour

**A/N: Yes, it's finally here! (Yet again) I've split one chapter into two. Had a break for a couple of days to work on some of my other stories and to try out my newest game Darksiders, though I think Skyrim's still my favourite :)**

**Thank you to everyone who's been looking at my story! It has been two weeks since I first uploaded the Prologue and I have had 2200 views! And keep those reviews comin'!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was strange, I told myself, how quickly things could change in a bustling merchant's city.

I stood in the marketplace area. Many things still looked the same. The Bannered Mare still overlooked the few stalls in the market; Fralia Gray-Mane was still selling ridiculously-overpriced pieces of jewellery and weaponry, and there were a few other stalls, selling fruits and vegetables and meat that the wolf within me howled for; it was fresh and bloody. But meat tasted better warm. It could wait until tonight, when we hunted again.

The only thing which had changed on the two other stores were signs.

Windflight General Goods was gone. In its place stood another sign; Belethor's General Goods. The Breton merchant had moved into the city only a few months ago, and already had earned a reputation for being a bit sleazy. But at least he had pretty good stock, for people who wanted more furniture or crockery or cutlery, or new clothes. And Faiwen's Alchemical Supplies had fallen under new management. The sign now read "Arcadia's Cauldron".

I smiled, knowing that Faiwen had departed Whiterun just half a year ago and her apprentice Arcadia – the very same who Farkas once had knocked over in the middle of the street – had taken over the place. I headed towards the shop, the pouch at my side fragrant with the sickly deluding scents of nightshade, canis root, nirnroot and deathbell.

As I headed inside, the usual powerful aroma of hundreds of different plants on display made my head spin. Once I grew accustomed to the musty smells, which made my wolfish senses ring, I looked towards the counter to see Arcadia standing just behind, inspecting the potency of a potion. She looked up as the door closed behind me.

"Greetings, Huntress," said Arcadia, lowering the potion bottle and putting it with a light _thud_ on the table. "Did you hunt well?"

"Quite," I replied, coming over to the counter and putting the pouch down on the surface. "I found all the ingredients which you wanted."

Arcadia looked surprised. "All of them? Even the nirnroot?"

"I was lucky enough to find a clump growing by a small spring near Morthal, when I headed up there on my most recent contract for the Companions," I explained. "It keeps fresh for quite a while, I discovered. Quite useful, since it was a few days ago when I picked it. Still potent enough for potions?"

"Oh, definitely," Arcadia nodded, as she upended the pouch and all the ingredients lightly tumbled out onto the countertop. She smiled in satisfaction, picking up a nightshade flower, harvested only that morning. "My my, these are in excellent condition. You didn't have any trouble finding these, did you?"

I shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Arcadia smiled. "You know, you never cease to amaze the townspeople. The way which you hunt and always find what you're looking for…no wonder why you're a member of the Circle now. Our Harbinger's right-hand woman now?"

I shook my head. "I'm the most recent member of the Circle. It kind of goes up by way of years of experience. I'm not Kodlak's deputy; Orgmund still holds that happy role. But maybe one day."

Arcadia paused. "Speaking of which, one of those Companions was looking for you."

"Who?" I asked at once.

Arcadia shrugged. "I don't know his name, but he wore funny armour. Brown, with wolf's fur. Had a big sword across his back. Had one eye."

"Skjor? What does he want with me?" _Gods, he can never leave me alone!_

"How should I know?" Arcadia asked indignantly. "But he dropped by a moment before you came in, saying to refer you to him the moment you returned from your hunting. Looked pretty excited. All I can say is that you'd better head back up to Jorrvaskr as quickly as possible."

I nodded. "All right. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Oh, and a little compensation for your troubles."

She pushed a small money pouch into my hands, and a couple of healing potions, which I strapped carefully to my belt. Then I headed outside, wondering what on Nirn I was wanted for now.

* * *

When I headed inside, I saw at once that the atmosphere was tense and bursting with excitement. I looked around, thinking that another brawl was going on. Maybe between Dasha and another whelp. I wouldn't have minded seeing the Imperial woman being beaten up by someone like – oh, perhaps Farkas, who was now eighteen and full-grown, and looked as formidable as he was in battle. But there were no sounds of fighting, no enthused cheering, no angry Orgmund irritably telling them off.

What I did see was Myllasa speaking quickly and excitedly with Lemaat, and Samiith deep in conversation with Orgmund and Kodlak, and Dasha and Patros looking by with great interest glittering in their eyes, and Farkas and Vilkas looking particularly excited as they stood beside Skjor, who seemed to be intently talking with them.

I leapt lightly down the steps and proceeded over to Skjor. "Care to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

Skjor turned around. "Ah, good, you've returned," he said, and I saw his good eye snapping with excitement.

"To this," I remarked, glancing at the apprentices, who glanced just as excitedly back at me. "What's going on?" I repeated.

"A fragment's been found!" said Lemaat, looking over from where he and Myllasa stood.

"A fragment of…" I didn't even get a chance to finish the question, because I already knew the answer. My eyes travelled to the frame, to the outline of Ysgramor's shattered war axe, where a few fragments lay in the mountings, and where many were bare.

"A fragment of _Wuuthrad?_" I gasped.

In my six years with the Companions, not one piece had been found. To know that a shard of the ancient war axe had been discovered was obviously a cause of great excitement.

"Who's going to go and get it?" I demanded of Skjor.

He looked back, and I suddenly understood.

"You," Skjor declared, putting a hand to my shoulder. "You, and the twins, are going to go and retrieve it for the honour of the Companions!"

I saw envy glimmer for a moment in his good eye. "I wish it were I that was going to find the fragment of Wuuthrad, though I can't think of anyone better going to claim it."

"Farkas and Vilkas are to come with me?" I checked, looking back at the young whelps. Eighteen, full grown and highly talented in battle, they looked back at me, and I suddenly realized…they had grown up. And to think that when they came here, they were nothing more than two scruffy little orphan boys who had braved the wilds and the dangers of Skyrim just to get away from an orphanage. Now they were warriors, hardened for battle, already clad in their steel armour.

I heard footsteps behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see the rest of the Circle coming towards me.

"Yes," said Samiith, in answer to my question. "The boys are ready to prove themselves to the hall. They will accompany you to Steepfall Deep, the reported place where we have heard of the fragment's location."

"Steepfall Deep...I haven't heard of that ruin before," I commented thoughtfully. "Whereabouts is it?"

"In the mountains just behind Helgen – the locals can point you out to the place when you reach the town," said Orgmund, with a frown. "Be warned; the locals in Helgen say that Steepfall Deep is...well, they contain Draugr. A lot of Draugr."

"Draugr?" asked Farkas quizzically.

"The undead, Farkas," Vilkas responded, giving Farkas a gentle nudge. "Come on, I've told you about them before, remember?"

Farkas frowned. "You did?"

"The Draugr have a habit of keeping their most treasured possessions at the ends of their crypts, so undoubtedly it will be interred in the main chamber," said Kodlak, turning seriously to me. "Be careful. The Draugr have been growing restless of late. More of them have been awakening in the cavernous chambers that they dwell within."

I nodded. "I've had plenty of firsthand experiences with those damned corpses."

"And these 'damned corpses' are going to be trying to kill both you and your Shield-Brothers," said Orgmund, scowling. "Remember, Aela, that this is their first. They have never gone on a contract before. It is your responsibility to look after them."

I felt a sick feeling dwell in the pits of my stomach. "Even after...last time?" I couldn't help muttering.

And then Skjor was beside me. "What happened in Kagrenzel wasn't your fault, Aela," he said to me. "We all could have died in there. Any one of us."

I looked down. I knew that I couldn't have died. Hircine protected me. As long as I wore his amulet, which bore his blessings, I was safe from death. At least, as long as I continued to fight and serve in his name. But the boys...two adolescents, masters at two-handed and utterly no experience of what they'll have to go through in a Draugr-infested ruin. I glanced at them. Farkas and Vilkas were deeply engrossed in a conversation as to what they thought Draugr looked like.

"Their arms would probably fall off before they even pick up a weapon to use against us," said Farkas.

"Draugr are cursed undead; they don't just rot completely away like other corpses," Vilkas argued. "And they can still fight. I heard that once, a Companion, one of the really early whelps of this place, died because a Draugr cut his head off!"

"That's just a story Dasha invented," Farkas said steadily. "I heard her telling it to Patros."

"And Dasha's been journeying all over Tamriel with Patros, remember," Vilkas prompted.

I sighed softly, feeling troubled, but not letting my anxiety show through now. The Circle were observing me, Skjor with concern in his eye, Orgmund with scepticism, Kodlak with careful sincerity, Samiith and Lemaat simply watching. Even now, five months after Eiwen's death and Ornith's departure from Jorrvaskr, I still blamed myself for not finding the Falmer sooner.

But I couldn't dwell in the past now. Recovering a fragment of Wuuthrad was the highest honour possible in the Companions. And often very dangerous. But danger was what any adventurer enjoyed. And as for me, a huntress, it was something I coped with best. "When do we leave?" I asked quietly.

"Now," said Kodlak. "The fragment must be recovered before it is lost. We have no idea what Draugr do with the strange and wonderful artifacts that they collect."

"Will we be using horses again?" I asked.

Lemaat shook his head. "The stablemaster has requested that the horses are refrained from use for a few days, while the shoes are being changed on their hooves. It just so happens that those days come when we do need the horses." He frowned. "But you have legs. So use them."

"I'd rather run. But I can't."

"And don't you even think about running," growled Orgmund. "I think you can guess why we're sending those boys with you in recovering Wuuthrad's shattered part, as well as it being their general first contract."

I saw the glint of bronze in his eyes. Orgmund really was growing more and more uncontrolled in his ways of the beast. Often, they were subtle. A strange remark at the table after one too many meads, a wolfish growl, very restless dreams and often being alone for quite a long time, and spending a lot more nights out. And often, when I too let the wolf take over, and I would follow Orgmund through the dark chills of night, I would find many dead animals, completely and savagely torn apart, in his wake.

It was really incredible, how much my life had changed, since I first took the blood a year ago. I had completely adapted to the beast within me, and the Circle had noticed how easily I lived alongside the wolf within me, as if I had always been like this. Perhaps my great control over the beastblood was part of why they were sending me along with the whelps to Steepfall Deep.

"You know the basics of this contract," said Kodlak, with a nod. "Find the fragment and return it. Together, with Farkas and Vilkas at your side, you'll find the fragment and at the same time clear the place of Draugr." His gaze shadowed and his voice lowered suddenly. "But be careful, girl. The Silver Hand hunt often in the woods of Falkreath."

I simply nodded. "Don't worry. This time, I'm going to make sure that we all come out of there. And with what we came for in the first place."

* * *

Farkas and Vilkas were both pretty excited when we finally left Whiterun far behind us, and journeyed southward, following the south road leading up through the mountains just behind Riverwood, and up to Helgen. It was nightfall by the time we reached Helgen, nestled so comfortably amongst the rocky frost-coated spires that rose all around the town's walls, and we all were pretty tired.

"I hope there's an inn somewhere up in Helgen," I muttered to myself. "Because we are not sleeping in the middle of the snow."

"Is the Deep far from here now?" asked Vilkas as we entered.

"Hopefully not." We paused on the road and looked into the city. Houses rose up on all sides, along a well-cobbled road, and friendly golden light flooded out of the windows. Guards patrolled up along the walls over the gates. They didn't seem to mind our presence here; at least, none questioned us as Farkas, Vilkas and I walked along the road, looking for a tavern.

We found it soon enough. At least, I did; my sensitive nose soon picked up the smell of cooking food, and I heard the gentle murmur of chatter echoing just beyond. We came to the inn, and headed inside, to see that at least half the town were already within, all seated at various tables, eating and drinking merrily, and barely paying any attention to us.

"It's pretty noisy," commented Farkas.

"Not too noisy for us to rest our heads, hopefully," I replied, heading over to the counter.

An aged man was tending to the drinks and the food. He looked up as the twins and I approached, and quickly came over to serve us. "Greetings, travellers," he said, with a friendly smile.

"We want three rooms for tonight, and a bite to eat," I said briskly, pulling out a pouch of money and putting it on the table. "And information."

The innkeeper nodded. "Of course, of course. Now, fair lady and kind sirs, what may I get you?"

_Oh, brother, this is going to take forever,_ I thought. And it did. Poor Farkas couldn't seem to make any sense of the strange, descriptive words on the menus that the innkeeper handed to us, and even after Vilkas explained each individual item to his brother, Farkas couldn't make up his mind. Not wanting to cause trouble, Farkas simply ordered what Vilkas was having. I ordered some steak from the innkeeper. "Very rare," I added, handing back the menu, and the wolf muttering in satisfaction that at least it would get some blood tonight. "And some mead."

The innkeeper looked delighted at this. "Ah, fair lady, you have not truly experienced mead like this before," he said. "Here, we have a special kind of brew, one my son Vilod takes great pleasure in brewing in his spare time; clever boy indeed, it helps keep our business blooming well, as you can see." He gestured around the inn before continuing. "Anyway, do you care for some of our special brew? It has juniper mixed in. Do the young sirs, perhaps, care for some?"

"N-no thanks," said Farkas, as quickly as he could manage. I chuckled to myself, knowing that juniper would hold particularly bad memories for the twins.

"I'll try some," I obliged.

Soon we were shown to our seats and a young Nord (Vilod, I presumed) came to our table bearing platters of rich-smelling food, and after we began to tuck into our food, came back later with the drinks. I uncorked the mead and a strong smell of juniper arose from within. "Cheers," I commented to the twins, who were watching slightly apprehensively, and took a dreg.

It wasn't bad stuff, I decided, setting the mead down. But I think I preferred normal mead to this stuff. Too aromatic for the wolf, who curled its lips in displeasure of the taste.

The innkeeper came by a moment later. "Are you all satisfied with the food?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "But there is one thing you can do for us."

"And what is that, kind sirs and lady?"

"Tell us about Steepfall Deep."

The innkeeper's smile froze on his face, and then his eyes shadowed, though he continued to speak in a friendly voice.

"Headed there, are you?" he asked.

"Yes. The honour of the Companions demands it."

The innkeeper pulled up a chair and sat down beside us. "Then I hope your fighting skills sharp, else you're never comin' out of the Deep. Nasty place, it is. A few travellers came by a few years ago, looking for excitement and glory. 'You'll get none o' that if you go to the Deep', I warned them, but they didn't listen, and they never came back from their journeyin'."

"Where is the Deep?" I asked, pulling out my map.

The innkeeper looked unsettled as he marked the Deep's location. "There. And be it on your heads if you step foot in there," he muttered, as he rose and quickly left us, as though he couldn't stand to linger a moment later around three people he clearly thought were heading to their deaths.

_That's what you may think,_ I thought, as the twins and I headed up to our rooms. _But we're all going to come out of there alive, and whatever is in there had better watch out._

My voice hardened in my mind. _You hear me, Father? We're _all_ coming out of there alive, with or without your help._

* * *

It was only an hour's steady walking up from the back gates of Helgen and into the frosty wilderness that stretched beyond the city walls before Farkas, Vilkas and I finally came to the outside of the Deep. It didn't look quite as impressive as some of the old Nordic crypts I had delved into, to clear out, to find a valuable artifact or for numerous other reasons. It was just a half-frozen door embedded in the mountainside, with two cold braziers just outside.

"You know clearly what we are looking for," I said to the twins. "And we are not coming out of that crypt without the fragment of Wuuthrad. No walking corpses are going to stop us."

"None," agreed Vilkas and Farkas together.

"Good. This is your first contract, your first experience with the dangers of the world that Companions are tasked with to destroy," I said, approaching the door, looking menacingly heavy and stiff. "Do your duty and succeed in your contract of finding Wuuthrad's broken piece, and you'll both be well on your way to becoming members of the Circle. Good luck."

I pressed my hands against the door. It was cold. Summoning all of my gifted strength, I pushed against the door. Steadily it creaked open, until there was a gap between door and walls large enough for Farkas, Vilkas and I to enter through.

There was total darkness ahead of us.

"I don't suppose either of you brought torches?" I inquired.

Farkas and Vilkas shook their heads.

"Never mind. Stay close."

My voice echoed along the walls, rebounding, giving away the passage's size and depth and where it was headed. My sharpened hearing picked up the echoes, and slowly I walked forward, listening intently as our heavy footsteps made sharp metallic sounds that swam around us, bounding off the sides of the corridor. Vaguely I wondered if the crypts would be candlelit; they always seemed to be.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, we rounded a bend. At the foot of a large flight of stairs was another door, and six candles on two different three-armed stands stood on either side of the hinges like small, flickering sentinels.

"Careful," I warned Farkas and Vilkas softly, beginning the steady descent. "Closed doors often lead straight into crypts. Make no more sound than is necessary."

We were going well. I made it down to the flat floor at the base of the steps. So did Vilkas. Farkas, who was last, tripped and fell the last few steps down, his armour clashing endlessly on the ground.

Quickly Vilkas helped Farkas stand. "Sorry," he said, looking very embarrassed.

"Sorry may not be good enough if we're discovered by the Draugr," I said silently, listening carefully for the sound of aggravated movement within. There seemed to be no sound. I gave Farkas a hard look as I muttered, "Try and keep any clumsiness you might have reined in. Got it?"

Farkas nodded determinedly. "Got it. Let's go."

We pushed the doors open, revealing another passage that wound further beneath the mountains, though at least it was lit by candles this time. We headed through.

"Aela?" asked Vilkas.

"Yes?"

"What keeps the candles lit?"

I shrugged. "Draugr, maybe."

Vilkas looked curiously at some more of the candles. "But why keep the ruins lit? They can't see, can they?"

"Oh, they can see, all right," I replied grimly. "Their eyes may have rotted away but whatever force is keeping them alive gifts them with sight. When you see an awakened Draugr you'll see what I—"

A tall, two-legged creature shambled unexpectedly from around the corner, and burning blue eyes focused at once on me. It let out a hoarse grunt and drew a mean-edged weapon.

"—mean," I finished, drawing my bow.

The Draugr let out a croaking shriek and ambled forward, brandishing its weapon. Farkas and Vilkas drew their greatswords and charged. For a moment, I considered joining them in their fight, but my hand hesitated when it went up to grasp an arrow.

_Let the boys prove their strength,_ growled the wolf.

They were proving it, all right. As the Draugr swung a crippling blow, Farkas dropped down and rolled smoothly out of the way of the swing. As the Draugr straightened from its swing, Farkas delivered a blow straight to its armoured chest, knocking the Draugr a few steps backward. Vilkas charged, and the Draugr blocked the blow, but not before Farkas managed to sink his greatsword into its rotted leg. The Draugr hissed in irritation but it was still formidable and virtually unwounded; it had no blood to spill, and could not be weakened.

"Head, heart, throat or gut," muttered Farkas, as he charged in again. The Draugr spun around, parrying the blow with surprising speed, and kicked out, catching Farkas in the leg. Farkas staggered, though his solidness prevented him from falling.

Immediately Vilkas lashed out, seizing the opportunity, hacking down as hard as he could onto the Draugr's leg. With a grunt, the Draugr sank down onto one knee. Immediately Vilkas brought the greatsword up, and swung it hard, cleaving the Draugr's head from its decayed shoulders. The blue light died from the skull as it thudded on the ground, and once again, it was just a corpse.

Vilkas sheathed his sword, looking amazed at the dead Draugr.

"So it's...really dead now?" he asked, a little nervously.

"Even a corpse can't survive without its head," I responded, sheathing the bow over my shoulders. "You both decapitated the Draugr really well, I might add. Not bad for your first encounter of something which really wants to try and kill you."

Farkas shrugged, giving the corpse a slight kick. "Hmph. I'd like to see the rest of those creatures come at me. See what they've got. They're just bodies."

"That can walk and are a lot stronger than living beings, because they feel no pain," I reminded Farkas. "Now come on. You've had your little moment of glory. Let's keep on searching the Deep."

* * *

**A/N: Steepfall Deep is a place I have entirely made up myself. You will not find it anywhere in Skyrim.**


	34. Chapter 33 - I Hate Spiders

Chapter Thirty-Three

I noticed that, as we headed further and further into the Deep, Farkas and Vilkas became more fluent in killing the Draugr, particularly as more of them kept leaping out at us. But they were of the weaker sort and were usually quickly killed off. The twins quickly lost their fear of the Draugr, rising to meet the challenges without the slightest trace of terror. They came through each battle practically unscathed, save that their armour was growing a little more battered with each battle.

Soon we came to another chamber, a kind of hall, where there were elaborate stone carvings along the walls. Farkas's and Vilkas's eyes widened with wonder as they went to look at the carvings.

"The Hall of Stories," I mused thoughtfully, heading down to the end. I had been in these things a few times before. There always seemed to be a Hall of Stories in every Nordic crypt I had ventured into. Usually there was – yes, there it was, at the end of the hall. A large door, seemingly impossible to move, with three rotatable carvings above a large stone slab in the centre, where there were three small holes that could only be opened by...

A key. And it glittered on the ground, just at the base of the door.

With the body of a dead mercenary right beside it, peppered with darts.

I looked around, noticing the small clefts in the wall where the darts would come flying out. The mercenary must have gotten the wrong combination code, I told myself, as I bent down and retrieved the claw. Or would have retrieved it, if the wolf hadn't suddenly howled with warning, screaming _Get away! Get away! We hate the metal!_

Silver. The claw was made of silver.

I growled softly through my teeth. Perfect.

"Hey, you two!" I called over my shoulder, to where Farkas and Vilkas were still inspecting the carvings on the walls. "Come over here, would you?"

They came obediently. Farkas stopped abruptly when he saw the dead mercenary. "Talos preserve us, what happened to him?" he grunted.

Thank goodness we weren't in a city, I told myself, frowning sternly at Farkas. "Don't make uttering that a habit," I warned him. "I don't care what Orgmund's been telling you about Talos, but you mutter that within an arm's length of any Imperial or Elf, you can be sure the Thalmor will be on your tail."

Farkas scowled, cursed the Thalmor under his breath, and then repeated his question. "What happened to him?"

"Darts," I replied, indicating the clefts in the wall. "They come out if you put the wrong combination on the door, and then try to unlock it with the claw."

Vilkas picked it up and examined it curiously. "How do you unlock the door, then?" he asked.

"Simple," I said, forcing myself not to wince as I saw how easily Vilkas held the potentially-lethal metal in his hands. "Turn the claw over. There should be some insignias on the back."

Vilkas obliged. "There are three carvings," he reported. "Um...I think there's..." he squinted at the carvings, trying to make them out. "There's an arrow, a moon, and a wolf," he announced.

I did the smallest of double-takes. "What?"

"An arrow, a moon, and a wolf," repeated Vilkas.

I stared at him. He had to be mistaken. I came over and looked over his shoulder, but saw that he was indeed correct. The carvings of an arrow, a moon and a wolf were clearly inscribed on the back of the claw.

_Strange,_ I thought, my heartbeat quickening. _Those aren't the usual carvings for a door...they're usually an animal of some sort...an owl, a fox, bear, dragon, even..._

And the claw was made of silver, too. In Vilkas's hands. Surely this wasn't just coincidence. It _couldn't_ be coincidence...

I swallowed with some difficulty, and then glanced at the door. From the top rotatable carving downwards, it read wolf, moon, arrow. The mercenary, by the looks of it, had read the claw upside down, put the key in, and promptly got killed.

"Shift the carvings so they match," I instructed Vilkas eventually, stepping back to allow the whelp to move the carvings.

He shifted them with ease; they spun well in the door, falling into place each time a new carving showed up with a rough, stony _click_. But I barely watched as Vilkas turned the dials. I was trying to control the waves of fear that were coursing within me. The Silver Hand were here. They had to be here. At least, they were here once. Did they know that a fragment of Wuuthrad was in the Deep? Was there even a damned fragment, or had I walked into a trap?

With two whelps, unprotected by my Lord?

_Oh, Gods..._

But before I could say anything, or even think anything else, the final dial shifted into place. Now the carvings read top down: arrow, moon, wolf. Vilkas glanced at me. "This is right, isn't it?"

I made my head nod. "Now put the claw in the carving and twist it to the right, and then the left, and then take it out again. The door should open."

Vilkas nodded. He inserted the claw's talons into the lock, and then twisted it right and left and took it out again.

Dust fell from above the door. A deep, shifting sound was heard. Slowly, steadily, the door began to sink into the ground, at first jerkily, and then in one swift motion, it had vanished beneath our feet.

At the same moment it disappeared, I heard something _click_ affirmatively within the walls. The wolf screamed a warning.

But I ran forward anyway, grabbed Vilkas's shoulder, and heaved him backwards, as a rain of darts suddenly exploded from either side of the doorway, clattering against the far walls, pattering on the ground. Farkas, who was out of the danger zone, swore loudly and jumped back nonetheless.

Then the noise subsided. There was another _click_ within the walls, and then all was silent.

I released Vilkas's shoulder, not even realizing I was holding onto him still. "You okay? Nothing hit you, did it?"

Vilkas shook his head slowly, still staring wide-eyed at the air where the darts had whisked through. Farkas muttered that he was also all right.

"But...but we got the right combination, didn't we?" Vilkas asked, sounding confused. "Why did the darts come anyway?"

I didn't tell him what I really thought. That the Silver Hand were in the Deep as well as we were. That they were most likely going to kill me. That it couldn't have just been coincidence with the claw, with the lock on the door, with the strange and meaningful combination on the back of the silver claw. "The traps must be over-enthusiastic," I simply replied, striding forward. "It's an ancient ruin. Anything can happen. That is why you must always be on your guard."

Farkas and Vilkas nodded, falling into step behind me, as we entered the most recent chamber. To them, it was another lesson to be learned. More experience to be gathered for future assignments. To me, it was a warning. A warning that there was danger, close at hand.

_Beware the white metal._ Olava's voice rang suddenly in my head. _For it burns to the touch._

* * *

The Draugr snarled, rotting face near mine, and swung its mace with savage strength.

I dodged the blow, and brought my dagger thrusting forward, into its exposed, rotting chest. With a grunt, the Draugr staggered backwards, giving me enough time to jerk the dagger out, coated with something which I didn't really want to think about, and sliced it across the Draugr's throat.

As if that did anything. The Draugr lunged again, this time with a very unpleasant fold of skin hanging just below its jaw, revealing a mass of rotted tendons. Undead didn't need to breathe.

"Sh—" I began, dodging another swipe with a mace. Whether I intended to say Shor's bones or shit, it didn't matter, because with a sweeping thrust, I had cleaved the Draugr's skull with the dagger, breaking through bone and pushing it up to the hilt into its head. The Draugr's blue eyes blazed, and then winked out, and it slumped onto the ground at my feet with a rattle of armour.

I bent down and drew the dagger out, and almost casually glanced over where Vilkas and Farkas were fighting one of those Draugr who were still powerful enough to cast spells. Its head was protected by a heavy horned helmet, but I had complete faith in the boys. And I was around, too, in case they needed any assistance.

But they didn't. With a very powerful backhand swing, Farkas cut one of its legs clean off. With a surprised grunt, the creature fell onto its back. Immediately Vilkas plunged his greatsword down through its breastplate armour and through its heart. It didn't kill the Draugr, but pinned it in place, as Farkas kicked the helmet off and cleaved its skull without a second thought.

"Nicely decapitated," I commented, sheathing my dagger. Farkas straightened up. Vilkas pulled his greatsword out from the permanently-dead Draugr's chest.

"Hopefully," said Vilkas, as he sheathed his weapon, "that's the last of them." He spat on the corpse.

"We're getting very close," I murmured, looking towards the iron door at the back of the room. I sensed that the fragment was just behind that door. The wolf agreed. Soon we'd be getting the hell out of this place, and we'd have our fragment. But what I didn't understand was the notable absence of Silver Hand warriors. Had I been wrong to think of the silver claw and the odd carvings as a message from the group? Had it just been like that, and I had the chance of coming across it?

All we had encountered in the ruins were Draugr. Nothing but Draugr. And Farkas and Vilkas were virtually unscathed. Vilkas only had a large bruise on the side of his arm where he had taken the full punishment of a blow delivered by a Draugr warrior who wielded a warhammer. His pauldron had taken most of the force but some of it got through, and it was quite swollen, a reminder to Vilkas just how powerful some of the Draugr could be.

"Be on your guard," I told the boys, as I headed towards the iron doors. "Whatever's in there, it'll be guarding the fragment. I just know Wuuthrad's shard is in this next chamber. The danger may not immediately present itself to us, but do not lax in your alertness for one second, until we are out of the Deep."

Solemnly Farkas and Vilkas nodded.

I headed to the doors. For a moment, I hesitated. What kind of Draugr would be in the next chamber? Would there be many of them, or just one exceptionally-powerful one? What if there wasn't any Draugr, and it was just a matter of wits and cunning, to escape a series of traps?

_Only one way to find out,_ the wolf snickered in my mind.

_Shut up,_ I told it, and flung the doors open.

My breath was taken away. I was looking at a massive cavernous chamber, very much like the one in Kagrenzel. Everything was dark and unlit with candles. The only light came from a large space in the ceiling, right above us, where pale daylight filtered through. I could hear the sounds of rushing water. I took a few steps into the chamber, to see through the dim lighting the outline of a kind of stone bridge, leading across the chamber and to a large stone ledge – no, platform – on the other side of the mighty cavern. The platform was completely covered in cobwebs, and corpses thoroughly encased in spider-silk hung upside-down from the ceiling high above. Beneath the stone bridge was a very long drop, vanishing into gloom, though the sounds of rushing water were very evident below, echoing up and up the chamber until it rang all around us.

_It's a steep fall,_ I told myself. _And pretty deep down, too. Hmm, 'deep'. No wonder they gave that name to this damned place._

"Wow," commented Vilkas, as he and Farkas appeared just behind me, looking around the chamber with wide eyes. His word flew around the stone, becoming more and more broken. _WOW, Wow, wow, ow, w._

Farkas frowned. "There don't seem to be any Draugr," he reported.

_DRAUGR, Draugr, augr._

"That doesn't mean danger isn't at hand," I replied crisply.

_HAND, Hand, and._

_Shut up,_ I told the echoes, which fortunately did not rebound back at me. I turned to Farkas and Vilkas. "We're searching for a fragment, remember. A small grey piece of metal. It'll be somewhere in that spider's nest."

The twins stared at the indicated platform. "Damned big spider," Farkas eventually breathed.

"Frostbite, most likely," I agreed. "Keep your weapons ready."

We crossed over the bridge. It was broad, so at least we didn't have to worry about losing our balance. But gradually movement became a little more difficult. Stickiness clung to the undersides of our boots. I looked down. We were walking in spider webs.

"Gross," Vilkas hissed, jerking his boot out of a patch with disdain.

"But where's the spider?" asked Farkas quietly, looking around.

I didn't answer. My eyes suddenly fell to something at first indistinguishable, but soon immediately recognizable. It was just coated under a lot of spider webs. A chest. Nestled in the massive web-coated sells of spider egg sacs, each about as large as a small horse.

"I think I've found it," I muttered to the twins, heading over towards the chest.

The webbing was particularly thick here. Movement became immensely difficult. But eventually I made it over to the silk-coated chest. I drew my dagger, and sliced through the strands that coated the chest's closed lips. When I was sure that all the spider web was gone from around the lid, I lifted it.

There was only one thing in there. But one thing that we had all come to receive. It was the fragment.

Of Wuuthrad itself.

With a softly-stifled gasp of awe, I reached into the chest and picked it out. It was a magnificent shard that made up part of the mean bladed edge of what once was a whole axe. The edge was still sharp, even though it had struck nothing down in a very long time.

"Is that it?" asked Vilkas.

I straightened, the axe shard held firm in my grasp. "This is it," I assured him. "A little dusty, but a fragment nonetheless."

I pocketed it securely, and then proceeded wading back through the strands of spider web. "Now let's get the Oblivion out of here before whatever made these webs, and laid those eggs, comes back."

Vilkas nodded, and fell into step just beside me. Farkas, who hadn't quite entered the platform and stood near the bridge, waited patiently for us. But as I neared him, Farkas suddenly looked past me, and his face became deathly white, and hoarsely he shouted, "Aela, look out!"

I whipped around. A gigantic spider crouched just behind me. It was already leaping by the time Farkas's warning came through, eight malevolent, black, fathomless eyes fixed upon me.

My scream of horror never escaped me. I was knocked onto my back by the impact of the spider slamming into me, and fat, dripping mandibles snapped towards me. I jerked myself just out of the way of the mandibles, which I knew from experience of fighting these loathsome creatures before were dripping with poison. I would have kept rolling, back onto my feet, if a large leg hadn't blocked my path, trapping me against it, as the huge spider reangled its newest lunge.

And then it squealed shrilly in pain and ducked away, its leg jerking away from me, allowing me to quickly scramble to my feet. Vilkas had weapon drawn, coated with sticky, unpleasant spider blood, standing nearby with a look of complete terror and determination on his face.

I didn't blame him for being terrified. This spider was a monster, far bigger than anything I had ever encountered. It was as large as a mammoth, if not larger. The largest Frostbite Spiders I had ever encountered were only a little larger than a horse.

The spider let out a hiss, and leapt at Vilkas. He tried to dodge, but the sticky spider web that had caught around his ankles slowed him down majorly. In desperation he swung his greatsword into its horrid head, making it retreat for a moment, palps protectively shielding the place where it had been struck. And then it hissed once more, and leapt.

In a flash Farkas was there, greatsword already drawn, and he thrust it with all his might into the spider's abdomen. With a squeal, it jerked itself free, and Vilkas swung his weapon straight into one of its legs, opening a deep gash where foul-looking blood spilled out of it. The spider spat with fury; it was barely hurt. And it lunged again at Vilkas, slamming into Farkas along the way and throwing the eighteen-year-old off his feet, weapon skidding out of reach. Vilkas was brought crashing down onto his back and was pinned down by two huge forelegs, dripping mandibles preparing to close around his throat.

Then my arrow whisked through the air, burying itself deeply into one of its putrid eyes. The gargantuan spider shrieked in agony, faltering in its attack, palps curling around the arrow's body and trying to tug it free from its skull. In the momentary distraction I ran forward, pulled Vilkas to his feet and drew him back. Farkas was scrambling to his feet, heading towards his greatsword.

Then the spider pulled the arrow free with a horrid squelching noise, broke the body in two, and threw it aside. With an enraged hiss, it scuttled forward with horrifying speed, towards Farkas. I released another arrow, and it landed just above its skull, penetrating a small wound on its abdomen, which was enough to wind the creature momentarily, sending it staggering back for a moment, and allowing Farkas to grab his sword and push himself to his feet. And then the giant Frostbite Spider lunged.

Farkas brought his greatsword swinging up. The mandibles closed around the weapon instead of around Farkas. With a shriek, it drew back, and as Farkas charged, I released a third arrow into its body, landing somewhere on its head. As the spider momentarily drew back, Farkas swung his greatsword mightily into its other foreleg, nearly cleaving it in two. With a shrill squeal, the spider leapt backwards, into its mass of webs, and Farkas, sensing a chance, turned and ran back towards us.

"Go!" I gasped, pulling out a fourth arrow and pressing it to the twine of my bow.

We began to run. We took two steps before I spun around. The spider was almost on top of us again. It had dashed back at us. I released the arrow instinctively, without aiming. The spider abruptly ducked, so the arrowhead sunk into one of its eight shoulders instead of one of its eyes, and didn't slow its pace one bit. I didn't have time to draw another arrow, or do anything, other than shout to the twins, "Run!"

Then I was knocked to the ground, and the glittering eyes appeared before me. Without hesitation, it clamped its mandibles tightly around my legs.

Agonizing pain shot through me the instant the poison entered my bloodstream. And then freezing cold washed over every part of me, and my mind fogged, my vision blurred. I heard Farkas and Vilkas cry out in alarm, but I didn't make out the words that they were saying. Vaguely I felt myself being dragged backwards.

And then the wolf roared, and the urge to survive – the need to survive – burned suddenly through my blood, revitalizing in its heat against the paralyzing coldness of spider poison. I twisted around, my hand going to my dagger, and I drew it, and slashed savagely at its eyes. It screamed in alarm, dropping my legs, taking a step backwards, palps covering its face protectively. The heat travelled down through my body but the poison was very potent; I couldn't move my legs. It felt as if they were permanently enclosed in ice, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before the poison reached my heart and claimed my life.

In one hand, I vaguely realized I still clutched my bow. I shifted a little to one side, to allow my hand to reach into my quiver, to tug out the first arrow that brushed against my fingers. I dragged it out, throwing it against my bowstring and pulling it back as far as I could go. As the huge Frostbite Spider loomed before me, I released the arrow, right into another of its eyes. It squealed in agony and fell back once more, and then I felt myself being dragged backwards.

"We have to get out of here!" Vilkas's shrill voice sounded near my ear.

The spider hissed, lowering its palps, the arrow still stuck in its eye, and foul-looking sludge beginning to dribble around the badly-damaged opening. I tried to move my legs but the paralyzing cold was too strong, even for my survival instinct. Strong as Farkas and Vilkas were, I didn't think they'd be able to drag me all the way back through Steepfall Deep.

Steepfall...

I looked slowly over the bridge, to the gloom, to the sounds of rushing water. And suddenly I knew how we could escape.

"Do you two trust me?" I demanded, almost angrily, as we watched the spider retreat a little, preparing for another lunge.

Farkas and Vilkas glanced down at me, but before they could answer, I said, "Because there's only going to be one way to get away in time from that spider. But you have to trust me."

The Frostbite Spider hissed again, poison swinging from its mandibles. I felt the heat within me begin to flicker and die. I knew I didn't have much time left.

"When I say jump, you jump," I growled through gritted teeth.

"What...down there?" Farkas glanced over the bridge's edge, to the gloom beneath. "Are you—?"

The spider lunged.

"Now!" I shouted.

We threw ourselves over the bridge. The spider's mandibles closed on thin air, its legs slamming on bare rock.

And we were falling.

I felt my bow slip from my fingers. The cold really was growing quite intense now. Further and faster we fell, plummeting like stones downwards through the Deep, the wind roaring like an animal in my ears. I was barely conscious by the time the river suddenly came into view, and just as suddenly, we collided through it.

The intensity of slamming into the water knocked me senseless. It occurred to me that this was the second time within a year that I had fallen about two hundred metres straight down into water underground. The coldness of the water stung, but it didn't contain the same numbing sensation as the poison did. The wolf roared within me; the survival instinct flared; I was carried swiftly downstream, unable to move, shocked completely senseless, paralysis numbing my movements.

Was this the end? I wondered. Was the Father of Manbeasts ready to accept me into the Hunting Grounds?

And then something jerked my head up above the water surface and I gasped in a lungful of air, before I heard a panicked shout beside me and suddenly whoever was holding me had his grip torn away from me. I submerged once again, but this time, my senses were returning, and I could even feel movement returning to my legs.

I kicked out, relishing the movement, and burst out at the river's surface again. The water had flushed out the worst of the poison. Now all I was aware of was the dark descent...or was it the ascent? The river carried me further and further down. I crashed into stone walls. I shouted for Farkas and Vilkas. Were they all right? Please, Gods, let them be okay, let them be safe...

And then light exploded all around me. At first, I thought that I had cracked a head against a stone and was already dead. Then the light cleared, and cold air slapped my face better than any hand could have. My eyes flew wide open as I saw blue sky dotted with clouds high above me. The dizzying ride in the river slowed, until I began to make sense of where I was. I seemed to be in some kind of lake that was also very cold, and very fresh, at the base of the mountains, and where the river from the Deep was swirling out through a cavernous opening in the base of one of the mountains. A shallow slow-moving stream carried the water from the lake north, flowing gracefully into the distant Falkreath woodland.

"Vilkas! Farkas!" I shouted, struggling to keep afloat.

Then two heads bobbed up, one by one, in the lake, and silently I sighed in relief when I saw Farkas's completely bemused expression with black hair plastered all over his face, and Vilkas, splashing clumsily towards the nearest bank, his armour weighing him down.

Bank seemed like a good idea to go to. I paddled awkwardly towards the bank.

When we finally pulled ourselves up onto the bank, we were so exhausted that we just flopped down onto our backs and stared up at the sky until our muscles stopped screaming and the last of the shock wore off. Then, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, brushing a strand of russet hair out of my eyes, and quickly examined my leg wounds.

The mandibles of the spider had been sharp, I conceded. It had punctured right through my leg armour and penetrated the flesh, but fortunately missing the arteries with the poison. If the poison had entered the main heavy bloodstream I wouldn't even be alive. I still felt pretty sick from Frostbite poison but it was nowhere near as lethal as Falmer poison. A small dribble of Falmer poison was stubborn; it eventually would kill you, if you didn't flush it out of your system first. Flush out most of a large intake of Frostbite Spider poison and you'd just feel a bit ill for a while, maybe retch, maybe need a healing potion, but you wouldn't die.

Healing potion! Why hadn't I realized it sooner! Was it still there?

I checked my belt, wondering why I hadn't done so already. Maybe my head was waterlogged. But the potions of healing that Arcadia had given me before I set out were still attached to my belt. I pulled out the nearest and let a dribble run down my throat, replenishing my strength.

"Are you two all right?" I asked Farkas and Vilkas, who were both now sitting up. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

Vilkas wearily shook his head. Farkas coughed up some more mountain water.

For a moment, we were quiet, and then, recollecting what had happened in the river, I said softly, "You know, who was it that kept me afloat?"

Farkas looked up shyly after a brief pause. "I...I couldn't let you drown, Aela," he said. "Kodlak wouldn't like that."

I rested a hand sincerely on his shoulder. "I'm indebted to you," I said, and I meant it.

Farkas looked pleased at this. Then his face hardened. "The...the, uh, the fragment! We still have the fragment, right?"

The fragment of Wuuthrad. For a moment, terror held me still. What if we didn't have it? That it would be lost forever in the dark waters of Steepfall Deep? My hand went to the pouch on my belt.

And then I felt the outline of the axe shard and I smiled in relief. Yes, it was there.

And I realized that I had kept my promise. We had entered the Deep. We had all come out alive. And we had retrieved what we had come for. My hand went to my amulet. I had long since learned that Hircine's token to me never came off unless I took it off myself. Plunging into water from great heights twice had proved this. Well, I supposed that was Daedric magic for you.

"Are you okay?" asked Vilkas, as he wearily rose to his feet, and looking at me with great concern. "You..."

"I'm fine," I assured Vilkas, standing up to prove it. "See? That makes it twice water's flushed poison out of me now."

Vilkas slowly nodded, looking relieved. "So do we head back now?" he asked.

I nodded. "We'll go back to Helgen for the night..." I paused, looking around, wondering vaguely where on earth we were, exactly. "At least, we'll head north, and find out where we are, and then decide if Helgen or Falkreath is actually closer for us to spend the night. Then we head on our way back to Jorrvaskr, to give everyone the good news."

"We found Wuuthrad's shard." Now excitement kindled in Vilkas's grey eyes. "We found Wuuthrad's fragment, on our first contract! We killed Draugr and fought a huge spider...nobody in Jorrvaskr is going to believe this!"

"I think they'll believe it, all right," I said, smiling ruefully. "Particularly Dasha and Patros, who've probably encountered more demonic creatures from Oblivion than I've killed skeevers."

Vaguely I wondered where my bow was. Surely I couldn't have lost it? For a moment, terror flooded me. My bow. My bow which Panjor had given me when I first became prenticed to him. I couldn't have lost it. It was one of my reminders of him.

Then something bobbed up in the middle of the lake and drifted casually to shore. I stared at it, hardly believing it, before wading back into the water and fishing out my bow. It was slightly battered but nothing that Eorlund couldn't repair.

Had Hircine heard my pleas?

I heard a sudden commotion of bird's wings nearby and glanced at the nearest tree to see a flock of sparrows take flight into the sky. Obviously my Lord's answer.

_I really am blessed,_ I thought to myself, slinging my bow over my shoulders. "Now that we've got everything," I said curtly to Farkas and Vilkas, striding back to shore, "We can head on our way."

* * *

**A/N: Stick around, I'll try to have chapter thirty-four uploaded tomorrow. I mean it! Please leave a review while you wait :)  
**


	35. Chapter 34 - Turning Feral

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Gildergreen was dying. People stood around the tree, anxiously murmuring to one another, when I emerged from Jorrvaskr.

I sensed immediately that something was up; even the Jarl was outside. Heading down the stone steps towards the Gildergreen, I went over to him and asked, "What's going on?"

Jarl Igvund turned to me, didn't look surprised, and said, "The Gildergreen. It's losing leaves."

I glanced up at the tree. I had been around Whiterun long enough to know that the Gildergreen never lost leaves. Not even in the fall, which it currently was, being the twelfth of Frost Fall. For a moment, I thought that everyone had to be mistaken. But there was no mistaking the absence of leaves, unusual patches in the mass of red.

It wasn't even red now, I realized. The leaves were fading to a dull browny-red, a faded crimson. The bark wasn't quite as brown as before.

"Do you know what's happening to it?" I asked Jarl Igvund.

He shrugged. "The chief priestess Danica Pure-Spring thinks that the tree isn't dying, but it's losing its essence." He paused as a breeze suddenly whisked across Whiterun, and suddenly the chatter ceased, as the wind rattled the tree's branches. I shivered as I realized it didn't quite sound like Kynareth's murmurings anymore. It just sounded like branches knocking against branches, like any tree.

Jarl Igvund sighed. "The Gildergreen is dying. It's reached the end of its life, if you ask me."

"Maybe it's just shedding leaves," I said, slightly sarcastically, as we both knew it never would. "What does Danica intend to do about it?"

"Nothing. She doesn't know how to repair the tree."

I sighed. "Pity. It was quite nice to sit under and listen to for a while. Kynareth helped me quite a lot with whatever grievances I had churning in my mind."

Jarl Igvund nodded. He glanced at me. "How long have you been with the Companions now?"

"Seven years," I replied, looking back at the tree. Nearly one year to this day, we had found the fragment of Wuuthrad. I glanced at Jarl Igvund. He was starting to grow aged, streaks of white growing more prominent amidst his hair. It wouldn't be long before his heir Balgruuf took the throne; but the young man was currently away with the Legion, apparently somewhere in Morrowind. Vaguely I wondered where they were headed, and if they would run into Ornith somewhere. We all missed the Dunmer and his advice, which was often as invaluable as Kodlak's.

"You've come quite far," the Jarl noted.

I nodded. "Farther than most. I'm a member of the Circle." _And a daughter of the moon. And of Hircine._

"You know..." Jarl Igvund said, frowning, "my men report hearing odd animal noises at night."

My heart leapt into my throat, but I forced it impatiently down and said, "Explain."

"Kind of like howling, often quite loud around the eastern side of Whiterun, only some miles south of Loreius Farm," the Jarl explained. "I think a pack of wolves have been roaming the area. We've been hearing it for a few years now, but I've had no trouble so far from these wolves; by trouble, I mean attacking people and livestock. But perhaps...?"

"We'll take care of it," I assured the Jarl easily. Skjor had taught me how to easily lie about any suspicions people had about the howling that the townspeople often heard in the nights, knowing that the honour of the Companions would keep the true secret well-concealed. "I'll let Kodlak know. He'll get a couple of people onto the matter as soon as we can spare them."

"Ah, yes...I had heard that you were quite low on whelps at the moment," Jarl Igvund commented thoughtfully. "Have you heard that those two Gray-Mane boys, what're their names, intend to join the Companions?"

"You mean Avulstein and Thorald, I guess," I said. "If they do decide to join, we'd welcome them."

Jarl Igvund nodded, and turned his gaze back to the Gildergreen. I guessed that I was informally dismissed, so I took my leave, heading back up to Jorrvaskr.

As I headed inside, I immediately smelt the stench of blood. "Who's hurt?" I asked sharply, striding towards Skjor, who was standing near the fire.

He turned quickly and met my gaze. "Nothing too serious," he replied easily. "Dasha and Patros just got a little enthused during training and had to go and tend to their wounds in their rooms for a moment."

I frowned, looking into his eye, to see the panic dwelling within. "You're lying to me," I said, softly, so that Farkas and Vilkas, who were standing admiring the fragments of Wuuthrad above the doorway to the undercroft, couldn't hear. "At least, you're not telling the whole truth. What's happened? Where is everyone?"

Softly, Skjor sighed. "Orgmund," he breathed.

"Oh, no...he didn't, did he?"

"Not in front of them. He got to the Underforge, just in time." Skjor narrowed his eyes. "The Circle's with him now. He can't control himself. He can't control the wolf."

_Shit. It's happening._ Quickly I walked around the fire and Skjor immediately caught up to me, and walked beside me, muttering, "It's not safe, Aela. He attacks anything with two legs."

"I've been through worse." I pushed open the back doors to Jorrvaskr and stepped into the training yard.

Quickly we walked across the brightly-lit cobblestones and slipped unobtrusively into the Underforge. The moment that the heavy doors grated shut behind us, I heard a low snarl, accompanied by a moan of pain, echo through the gloom, and two eyes – one bronze and one sharp green – suddenly flash out of the shadows near the blood altar.

"Get _back..._" the words were horribly distorted, as at first Orgmund's voice broke through, and then the wolf's.

"Shor's bones, Orgmund, what's going on?" I demanded. _What's happening to you?_

"Aela!" I heard Kodlak's voice echo suddenly out from the shadows, and my Harbinger emerged, already transformed, placing himself between Orgmund and me. "Get back," my Harbinger growled. "You're not safe here."

"I'm safe anywhere," I snapped irritably in response. "I don't need anyone looking out for me, thanks. Where's everyone else?"

Two pairs of bronze eyes appeared. So Samiith and Lemaat were transformed as well.

Suddenly I heard a ferocious snarl, echoed by a faint cry of "No!" and suddenly Kodlak whirled around, rising to meet...

I could only describe it to be Orgmund. But he looked nothing like him. He was only half-transformed, one side of him black as night with gray skin and thick black fur, the other side of him only beginning to turn gray and black, but he was struggling heavily against the transformation. But the part of him that was transformed was heavily savage, and he attacked Kodlak with frightening strength.

But my Harbinger was stronger. With a bark in response, Kodlak hurled himself at Orgmund, throwing the half-Nord half-beast to the ground. I heard the melancholy growls die into whimpering from Orgmund, and I saw the grayness in his skin die down a little.

"He's turning feral, isn't he?" I asked quietly, glancing at Skjor.

Skjor nodded. "It won't be long now. Orgmund's been His Hound for over three decades. The beastblood is growing more powerful within him. But what I don't understand is why. Why is Hircine doing this to Orgmund? He's been nothing but a faithful and devout follower of the Huntsman for all that time."

"I...I _need to hunt, need to kill, need to feed!_" Orgmund's distorted voice, twisted in the ways of the wolf, rang around the room. Kodlak flattened his ears, taking a pace back.

"Whatever happens, we keep him in the Underforge," he growled. "Secure the other exit, Samiith."

I glanced at Samiith. I had never seen the Argonian in a wolf form before, and for a moment, I wondered ludicrously how that was even possible. Now I saw Samiith transformed, his wolf unleashed, and I immediately realized I'd be able to tell this werewolf apart from most. His tail was very long, and his body lean, the legs long and slender. Instead of gray skin, he had gray scales, which glittered strangely in the halflight. His bronze eyes were narrowed, with slim, vertical pupils right in the centre, and he was earless, his snout narrower than most other wolves' snouts, his claws particularly long and savage-looking. Though I knew Samiith wouldn't be the strongest werewolf in battle, he would be the most agile. The werewolf Argonian crouched before the hidden exit that led to an opening, engraved in the city's walls, where we would instantly enter wilderness when we transformed in the Underforge. Lemaat, his gray skin beneath the dark fur a touch brown, stood near Samiith, curling back his lips at Orgmund to reveal long teeth.

Orgmund's form shivered. I saw him stiffen for a moment, relax, the grayness in his skin coming back in greater colour. I knew he was trying to fight the beast. I saw the wild gleam return to Orgmund's eyes, and suddenly, the green eye vanished, melting smoothly into a bronze colour, the body changing. He had lost. He had succumbed.

"_Hunt...must hunt..._" growled the wolf as he lunged at me and Skjor.

My Harbinger threw himself in our way, crashing against Orgmund, throwing him back with a pained yelp; Orgmund had managed to close his fangs around Kodlak's forefoot and ripped a small gash through the fur. Orgmund, now fully transformed, slumped against the altar and snarled. Immediately Lemaat pounced on Orgmund, but by now the werewolf was very formidable in strength. With a swift twist, he had thrown Lemaat off him, and with a stunning blow, sent the Redguard sprawling against the wall with a soft whimper of pain.

"Stop this, Orgmund!" I shouted, almost angrily, as Orgmund's malevolent and completely senseless bronze eyes fixed themselves on Samiith. "Hircine will be angry with you."

Orgmund whipped around, and I heard the wolf rasp, _Hircine...my master...my lord...we must hunt, we must hunt in his name! Hunt the daughter of the moon!_

Bloodlust raged in his eyes. He leapt. Kodlak, with a roar, rose to meet him, but his wounded paw suddenly let him down. He stumbled, and Orgmund slashed his claws across Kodlak's face, narrowly missing the eye, and blood suddenly splattered over the stone ground.

"Kodlak!" I cried in alarm.

Orgmund turned his gaze towards me, and then suddenly I heard a low growl from beside me. Skjor, fully transformed, without even me noticing, hurled himself at the wild Companion, as Kodlak fell back, one paw shielding his face protectively. I watched as Skjor snapped his fangs at Orgmund's ear, his claws ripping into the fur, but not striking skin. Orgmund growled, a deep menacing growl, and lunged at Skjor, claws ripping into Skjor's black fur, fangs leaning for the throat.

Gods, he was going to kill him! Orgmund was completely insane!

I didn't think for a moment. I drew my bow. I knocked an arrow. I let it fly, straight into Orgmund's shoulder. The werewolf let out a small yelp of surprise and scrambled off Skjor, who had been pressed onto his back. Immediately Skjor leapt to his paws and threw himself against Orgmund, who gladly rose to meet the challenge. Their wild cries echoed around the Underforge.

The speed at which both fought – Skjor and Orgmund – was incredible. I soon couldn't tell who was who, until they stopped, and I saw Skjor's cloudy eye glitter for a moment against his black fur, before he hurled himself once more at Orgmund.

_Kill! Kill!_ I heard Orgmund's corrupted, mindless wolf snarl. With a sweep of his claws, Skjor was knocked onto his back. He yelped in agony as Orgmund's claws plunged into his gut, pinning him there.

"No!" My wild, desperate scream broke through the savage snarling. Orgmund whipped around, but I was already charging, and I had swung my bow with full force against Orgmund's hairy head. I heard the _crack_ as the bow struck the skull. For a moment, I thought that the _crack_ was the bow snapping on impact. But it was the sound of metal slamming into bone, and Orgmund, with a shrill yelp, fell back, scrambling off Skjor. Immediately Samiith was on top of him, and Kodlak, who had nearly recovered, now prowled forward, blood falling thick around his face.

I pulled out an arrow, but Orgmund, with frightening strength, threw Samiith off him, and whipped around to deliver a crippling blow. But Samiith's agility saved him; he simply slipped to the side, and closed his jaws heavily around Orgmund's leg in passing. With a mighty tug, the feral werewolf was thrown onto his side. Samiith hissed, stepping back into place where he guarded the other exit. Orgmund prowled towards Kodlak and where Skjor lay, struggling to rise, blood seeping out from his wounds.

I released my second arrow. It flew true, enhanced by Hircine's token, burying itself this time in Orgmund's side, through the black fur and right through the skin. He howled with pain, falling back long enough for Kodlak to leap at Orgmund.

But we had all underestimated Orgmund's strength. The werewolf rose, slamming claws down onto Kodlak's shoulders and forcing the Harbinger down. With a growl, Orgmund threw himself at Kodlak. The Harbinger howled as the claws slashed against his exposed chest and shoulders, and was thrown roughly against one of the lesser altars in the Underforge. There was a _crack_. And then Kodlak slumped, and was still.

_No...no! Kodlak!_

Orgmund turned his gaze onto me, as though hearing my internal cries. Samiith immediately leapt on Orgmund but almost carelessly the feral werewolf threw the Argonian off him. Samiith landed on his paws and growled, but I knew he wouldn't be a match for Orgmund's frightening strength.

_Bring me forward,_ I heard my wolf whisper. _I will serve you and our Lord fittingly. Kill the traitor! He must die._

I felt my skin prickle. And I allowed myself to succumb. I let the bow slip from my fingertips, and in a motion, had unbuckled the quiver from around me, and hoped that my armour wouldn't tear apart. Eorlund's tampering with it had allowed it to morph with me, to fade along with my human form and to return when the wolf retreated once more into the shadows of my mind and within my blood. I felt my bones change, my body stretch and broaden and black fur coating my body. The first time, it had been agonizing, and I had lost my mind. I had now been a werewolf for over two years and had transformed so often that it didn't hurt at all anymore.

_We hunt, we hunt,_ whispered the wolf, except the words were echoed through my own lips, the voice of the wild beast coming through me. Orgmund charged, but I had finished my transformation, and I threw myself to the side, well-adapted to moving and hunting on four legs, like the wolf I was. I spun around, my claws ready, slicing through Orgmund's shoulder, brushing against the arrow which I knew I wouldn't be able to retrieve just yet.

Orgmund whirled around, bronze eyes meeting my own. I snarled, the wolf roaring, and threw myself at him, my fear for the Circle mounting into strength. Adrenalin pulsed through my body. I twisted as Orgmund slashed at the air towards my throat, and raked my claws down his back. Orgmund howled as his blood ran through his fur, twisted abruptly, and slashed at my chest. I gasped as his claws pierced the skin, and immediately I fell back, falling into a crouch to protect my soft underbelly, feeling my own warm blood run, and Orgmund prepared himself to leap on me again.

The words came without me really thinking; then again, it was the wolf in me speaking. _You dare to take on a daughter of Hircine, Orgmund?_

Orgmund curled back his lips. _Our Father demands the blood of a Hound is spilled. It shall be yours!_

He was gone, I realized. He had completely lost his mind. He threw himself at me. I braced myself for the impact, knowing I didn't have the speed to duck down and avoid it. I was slammed from my paws, thrown against the blood altar, and yelped as I felt my shoulders slam heavily against the stonework. I heard Samiith call out in alarm, heard Skjor's aggravated bark, and as Orgmund fell on me, about to tear my guts out, the feral wolf was knocked off his paws as Skjor threw himself at my defense, howling a bloodthirsty cry to the skies.

_You will not touch her again!_ I heard Skjor bellow. My eyes widened when I realized it wasn't just the wolf speaking; it was Skjor as well. His voice resonated from within his injured black form.

Orgmund rose, leering over the blood altar. _Fools,_ he growled. _You're all fools._

I pushed myself to my paws, knowing that he was going to kill Skjor. Already he had been dealt a critical blow and was weakened. He couldn't face Orgmund alone. As Orgmund leapt, I lunged, Skjor pounced, and Samiith hurled himself at the feral werewolf. But our combined strengths could not exceed Orgmund's. In a flash, a howl, and a whirl of claws, Samiith had been struck down, almost knocked senseless as Orgmund's claws tore through the thick fur around his head. Skjor fell back with a howl of pain as his foreleg was torn open and bled freely. And I found myself trapped beneath Orgmund, who leered at me with frenzied bronze eyes, edged red with Bloodlust, jaws prepared to tear out my throat.

"How could you, Orgmund?" My voice echoed through my unmoving lips.

Orgmund paused at the sound of my voice, echoing all of my sorrow, my misery, at seeing him succumb to the feral ways. And then I watched, dazed, as his bronze eyes suddenly melted away, becoming piercing and green once more.

"I'm sorry, Aela," I heard Orgmund say. His voice, the voice which we all knew so well, which I had heard for seven years, came through, and momentarily overpowering the feral wolf that had taken control of his body and mind. "I don't want to do this. But I can't defy Hircine."

That was the last time any of us ever heard Orgmund's voice.

I heard Orgmund suddenly scream in agony, and the werewolf abruptly jerked off my exposed form. I watched as the green eyes faded, to become bronze and red once more. I watched as Orgmund pulled himself through the dark tunnel, using what last restraints and control he had over the werewolf within him to get himself as far away from me as possible. As far away from anyone as possible. I heard the wolf howl distantly, abruptly cut off.

And then silence.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet, and looked at the wreck of the Underforge. Blood had been spilled this day. I checked Kodlak, but he wasn't dead, just unconscious. Lemaat was beginning to come around. Samiith assured me that he would be fine. Skjor seemed the worst out of all of us, but he was okay, forcing a wolfish grin in my direction to reassure me.

_What a pitiful hunt we had,_ my wolf growled, as I prowled towards Skjor.

Skjor softly laughed, pushing himself onto his paws. _But the prey will fall. We just weren't strong enough this day._ Then his humour faded, and I saw him look concernedly at me, and I heard Skjor speak; his wolf fell silent. "I'm just relieved you're okay, actually."

"Thanks." I silenced my wolf also, and dipped my head in acknowledgement, though I remembered the ferocious way which Skjor had fought to defend me, had roared that Orgmund would not touch me again, that he was prepared to fight to the death...because of me.

And I suddenly understood. "This is a little more about defending a Shield-Sister, isn't it?" I inquired.

Skjor let out a bark of laughter, his bronze and cloudy eyes gleaming bright. "I wondered when you'd guess," he said. "Of course you would, but I didn't realize it would have taken you so long, the best of seven years, for you to work out the truth."

"You mean that you loved me for seven years?"

"Even longer." Skjor looked earnestly at me. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you in Rorikstead."

"I was covered in dirt and digging carrots in my father's vegetable garden, and you still loved me," I said drily.

Skjor chuckled. "Maybe after you got yourself cleaned up a bit." And then his gaze grew solemn, and serious, and he leaned forward, a strange emotion flowing from his body, which I could feel was just warmth. Pure warmth. "But I saw you, and I watched you grow to the role of Companion, and then Circle-sister, and my love could only increase for you. I knew that you were the one I would be blessed with true love with in life. But for a long time, I was afraid to say it, afraid of what you were going to say."

"Probably at any other time, I would have said 'You're crazy, you're wrong, get away from me you deluded twit'," I said, feeling my fur prickle uncomfortably with the truth revealed. I had never given any thought to love before, and particularly to Skjor, who for a while had been someone who I had been irritable with as he annoyed me, and grinned broadly whenever I rebuked, but who had been a more dear friend to me than anyone else in Jorrvaskr.

"But not now?" Skjor's ears pricked.

"No, not now. You saved my life, Skjor, and you've admitted it, bravely in front of the remaining members of the Circle," I added, glancing sternly at Lemaat and Samiith, who were watching with some level of amusement in their bronze eyes. I bared my fangs at them. Then I turned back to Skjor. "So I think all I'll say is this: 'I love you'. Because I think I always have, but I didn't realize it until now."

Skjor let out a soft growl of content, and he murmured, "I love you, Aela."

He pushed his snout against my cheek, and I relaxed into the natural wolf embrace which I had never experienced before, but instinctively knew. "We'll have all of eternity to spend together," he murmured. "Death itself will never part us."

* * *

**A/N: Originally I intended Orgmund to turn feral later on and during a night hunt Aela and Skjor finally admit their love for one another in the wilds of Skyrim. But it kind of worked out like this, and to be honest, I think it's better than my original plan.**

**Orgmund will be reappearing later on. But not for a very, very long time. Please tell me what you think of this chapter while I hurry up and get the next pair of chapters uploaded, hopefully in a few hours.**


	36. Chapter 35 - Mistrust

Chapter Thirty-Five

"There's trouble."

I woke up abruptly from rest, as I heard Dasha's voice break clearly through my dreams. Was she right outside the door?

I sat up from the bed, pushing the blankets off me, to hear another voice.

"What's happening? What ails you?" It was Kodlak.

I frowned. Had Dasha and Patros tracked Orgmund? And why were they so loud? Maybe the doors to Kodlak's quarters were open. That, and my door was also open. Odd. I could've sworn I shut and locked it last night. Then again, I couldn't remember much of last night. All I remembered was tasting the warm flow of blood, and sneaking quietly back through Jorrvaskr and falling into my bed the moment I saw it.

"There are bandits, a large group of them, moved into a place called Fellglow Keep," said Dasha.

I listened intently as I put on my armour. "Patros and I and maybe a couple of others want to try and clear them out."

"Have the bandits been causing trouble?" Kodlak inquired.

I slung the quiver of arrows over my back.

"It won't be long before they do," said Dasha insistently. "Harbinger, please let me and Patros clear them out. But we can't do it alone, and we'd like a couple of others to come with us. Perhaps the other two whelps...?"

I put the bow over my back, and made sure that the dagger Eorlund had crafted for me for a fee, that had been the replacement of the dagger I had lost in Steepfall Deep, was secure on my hip in its sheath. Then I turned and slipped out through the doors, and into the quiet chambers of the undercroft.

"No. Not Farkas or Vilkas," Kodlak was saying firmly. "They remain here."

"So do we take some members of the Circle?" asked Dasha. "I think there may be spellcasters in the fort. Patros and I cannot do it alone."

I appeared just outside Kodlak's quarters. The doors, as I presumed, were open, and Kodlak was in his usual chair near the table. Patros and Dasha were standing, fully-geared and armed, just before the Harbinger. Patros, as usual, was silent, listening, and always at Dasha's side, completely inseparable from her.

"So who can you spare for us, Harbinger?" Dasha asked. "We really need help."

"I don't think it is a good idea to enter the fort," frowned Kodlak. "Your intentions are honourable. But we can spare nobody for such a task."

"I'm free," I offered from the doorway.

Dasha and Patros quickly turned around, and Kodlak narrowed his eyes. "Ah, Huntress. You're awake. Apologies if we disturbed you."

"Not at all." I turned to Dasha. "What's this about a fort?"

Dasha narrowed her eyes at me as well, though I don't think it was out of friendliness. Perhaps to conceal whatever emotions flickered in her eyes. "Fort Fellglow has recently had a large contingency of bandits making camp there. We don't want them so close to the road. So Patros and I have decided to clear them out."

"The decision doesn't fall to you in the end," I said, folding my arms, and forcing my voice to sound neutral. "While you are under Jorrvaskr's roof, the decision is made by the Harbinger."

Dasha nodded. "We have been requesting permission, as you may have heard, to clear out the place."

"But who can we spare?" inquired Kodlak, where he sat, with a frown. "You may be free, Aela. That is good, if you wish to assist your Shield-Siblings. But we do not know very much about this fort." He turned to Dasha. "Tell me again, girl, who are in Fellglow."

"Bandits, mostly; common thugs," replied Dasha breezily. "And maybe spellcasters. Fellglow has a tendancy to attract mages, but nothing that Patros won't be able to handle."

I glanced at the lanky Imperial. He flashed me an awkward smile, and let fiery-golden flames suddenly kindle between his fingers, giving the room an illuminating glow.

"Best quell the flames before the whole place catches alight," Dasha said curtly to her friend. Patros nodded and the flames winked out of sight, without a single ember to remain.

"Samiith and Skjor are meant to be returning from the Reach today, aren't they?" I said to Kodlak. "One of them can help us clear the fort, if you want to send a group of four." I felt a tiny squirm of unease in my stomach, but quickly I pushed this aside. I had been in groups of four before, and yet the only time I ever thought about a group of Companions heading out into danger was in Kagrenzel.

Kodlak frowned thoughtfully. "Yes...I suppose that would be best."

He nodded at Dasha. "Very well. You may go and clear the fort, with Aela and Samiith when he returns."

Dasha nodded. "Thank you, Harbinger. You won't regret it."

But something told me, deep down, that Kodlak would.

* * *

Well, it wasn't so bad, I told myself, as I stood amidst the fallen bodies of the six bandits who had decided we would make good training dummies. Beside me, Samiith was drawing out his shortsword from the corpse of a particularly aggressive marauder, whose face would be permanently frozen in a scream of anger, and glanced at me.

"This is only the first part," he hissed, and grinned.

I grinned back, slipping my dagger into its sheath, and looking over to where Dasha was standing, scowling at the dead bandits. Patros was crouched near the door, and motioning urgently for us to come to him. Dropping down into similar stealthy positions, Samiith and I crept up to him.

"What is it?" I whispered.

Patros frowned, made a complicated hand gesture, and jerked his head at the door.

"There are mages on the other side," Dasha responded quietly, as she came to stand beside Patros. "Just stay out of the way and let Patros handle it."

I nodded, and Samiith and I quietly took a few steps back. Weapon-wielding maniacs, I could handle. But not people who could summon unearthly forces and use them to kill us. I hadn't forgotten my encounter with the Hagravens or the Briarhearts in the Reach, even though many years had passed since I had entered the place.

Dasha picked the lock with ease; lockpicking, she had said to me once, was essential if you were an adventurer, because more often than not, chests with fortunes within were locked, as were a lot of doors. She slipped her flatblade and pick into her pocket and then stepped back, whispering, "Show 'em what you're made of, Pat."

Patros nodded. We waited for a moment. And then Patros straightened, and with more force and strength than I could have believed existed within the lanky Imperial, he kicked the door open. Almost at once, shouts echoed from within.

"Intruder!"

Whatever they were going to say next was lost in a fiery explosion. Patros took one step backwards from the impact, though he was completely unscathed; a ward glittered in his fingertips, forming a magical barrier. With his other hand, I saw fire kindle in his grip, and then he lowered the ward long enough for him to send a flaming fireball straight into the other room. There was another explosion, and then Patros lowered his ward, and with two hands, threw both ice and lightning into the room. There was a very dreadful sound as I heard the mages suddenly scream with pain. Patros, enthused, leapt into the room, spells still being casted at an incredible rate from his fingers.

"Let's go," said Dasha, leaping up and drawing weapon. Samiith and I drew our own and hurried after her through the doorway. I tugged an arrow from the quiver and readied it, and lifted it, looking for the spellcasters.

They were dead.

I lowered the bow, and sheathed the arrow. Patros was standing calmly beside one of them, who looked as if she had been enveloped in flames. Now she was just a charred body, being looted of magicka potions, which Patros drunk without hesitation.

"Magicka can quickly get exhausted," Dasha explained to me and Samiith. "It's important that he replenishes his magicka energy quickly. Particularly in a place like this, when danger could be around any corner."

I nodded. I supposed that made sense.

Soon we were heading back through the narrow tunnels again, leading in all directions, lit by torches, filled with bandits and a few more spellcasters. There were dogs in here, too, though they weren't a problem to handle. Even so, I was reluctant to kill canines; they were, after all, like me, only different in size and breed. But any animal was a son or a daughter of the Huntsman.

We entered a stone room that were full of bandits. They were sitting at tables and drinking a lot of mead, I noted, in the split second it took for that strange sight to abate, and scowls to darken the bandits' faces, and then they leapt to their feet, brandishing weapons, and charged.

The survival instinct flared, though I barely needed it anymore. I had grown used to fighting things head-on. I drew my dagger, and with it, I struck and delivered crippling, deadly blows like a snake's bite._Thanks, Ornith,_ I thought, as I performed one of his own self-developed maneuvers he had taught me in his time with the Companions, to stick the guts of a crazed Orc brigand before he could cleave my head from my shoulders with the axe he wielded. I rolled across the table and slammed the hilt of my bow into the face of the Imperial bandit who crouched just behind me, mace about to knock the air from my body, while at the same time I thrust the dagger with all my might into the Orc's heart. The Orc soon lay dead, and I spun around to cut open the throat of the bandit just behind me.

Flames illuminated the room. I leapt to the side as a fireball blazed past, crashing into the far wall, and igniting one of the tables. Patros looked apologetically at me for a moment before resuming his fight alongside Samiith as they fought off a skillful Nord. Vaguely I wondered why he didn't speak, though now wasn't exactly the time to be thinking of common matters, as I abruptly ducked and rolled from the swinging blade of a Redguard bandit whose intention to decapitate me nearly succeeded.

"Go back to the sands!" I spat at the Redguard, thrusting my dagger into his leg. He yelped in pain and collapsed, and I wrenched the dagger from his calf, flecked red with his blood, and slashed it across his chest. "Or, rather, rot in the sands."

I heard a scream nearby and whirled around to find that Dasha was on her side, staring into the eyes of a Nord female, who grinned in glee and rose her warhammer to crush Dasha's ribcage –

And then I had flung my dagger across the room. Perhaps Hircine guided it, because it struck home, even when I was sure it was going to miss. The Nord's eyes widened with surprise, and then glazed over with death, and rolled up into her head, as she crumpled and collapsed onto the floor.

I approached Dasha and helped her up. "You okay?"

Dasha nodded. "Nice work there, with the dagger."

"Thanks. Dagger-throwing isn't my strong suit, but it's an option." I bent down and tore the dagger from the Nord's side, and sheathed it. "Have the two males finished with their own enemy yet?"

We glanced over our shoulders. "Just finishing up," replied Dasha.

Samiith swerved, blocking with his shield, and then thrust his shortsword into the bandit's side. He straightened, sheathed his weapon, and said, "Finished." Unsurprisingly he had heard us, and he walked back to us grinning merrily from earhole to earhole.

"I hope nobody got hurt," said Dasha. "Bit humiliating if you did."

"Ah, these bandits fight like pregnant cows," Samiith shrugged, glancing at Patros. The Imperial nodded in agreement, and half-held up his hands, to show that he had no wounds, either. As for me, I was fine, so after a brief looting ceremony, as we slipped a few gold pieces each into our pockets, we continued through the fort.

After a while, we all got into the swing of it; find bandits, kill. We explored through the catacombs, leaving no place unforgotten. Dasha and Patros seemed to know where every corridor and chamber was, and where we would head to next. At this rate, I told myself, we'd be home in no time at all.

"You two know this place like the back of your hands," Samiith commented, after Patros made an abrupt turn, found a supposedly-hidden door, and gestured to Dasha.

The Imperial woman glanced back at us, and for a moment, I saw something flash in her eyes. Then they narrowed, hiding her emotions once again, and she replied, "When you've been adventurers for as long as Patros and I have, you develop a kind of watchfulness, a kind of sense, that tells you where to go."

I sensed that she was lying.

Then the door opened, and all thoughts but battle breezily left my head, and after a brief, violent scuffle with a pair of surprised bowmen, we continued on our way.

"How many bandits are there?" asked Samiith, an hour or so later.

"Hopefully, not that many," replied Dasha. She paused, looking up a winding staircase that led up and out of sight. "Hmm. That must lead to the chieftain's quarters. And if there's a dead leader, it won't be long before the bandits will fall into disarray, if we've missed anyone."

I glanced at Dasha. "For how long?"

"Long enough," was all she replied, and before any of us could stop her, she was away, racing up the stairs. Patros was right behind her, his face lit up with enthusiasm. I glanced quizzically at Samiith, who simply shrugged, and steadily we climbed up after the Imperials.

We took out a few more bandits who were waiting on the staircase. Soon we reached the top. The bandit on guard was quickly disposed of with a quick shot with an arrow. As I tugged it out form his unmoving body, I saw out of the corner of my eye Patros press his ear up against the door near the keyhole, listening intently, and then stepped back, smiling broadly at Dasha.

"There's nobody inside," replied Dasha, with a frown. "So the chieftain must just be outside. They never go far from their loot, stubborn mules."

She knelt down, fished out her flatblade and her lockpick, and began to unlock the door. I stepped back from the dead bandit, slinging the arrow over my shoulder, and said, "How do you know that there's even another way out from that room?"

"There always is," Dasha replied. She swore softly when the lockpick broke, tossed the shattered pieces aside, and felt around in her pocket for a new one.

"But why are you so certain?" I asked shrewdly, narrowing my eyes suspiciously at her. "You know this place far too well to be beginner's luck—"

"Look, do you want me or don't you want me to get into this next room?" Dasha spat irritably over her shoulder. Reluctantly, I fell silent, glaring down at the Imperial with open hostility, as the Imperial, muttering something under her breath, focused on the lock. Soon, we heard a confirming _click_, and then Dasha straightened, slipping her flatblade and lockpick into her pocket, and roughly kicked the door open.


	37. Chapter 36 - Grimly Reunited

Chapter Thirty-Six

The room was barren of anything, and large. A light layer of dust coated the stone. Our footsteps echoed rather dismally through the chamber as Samiith, Patros, Dasha and I entered the room. Behind us, the door suddenly shut behind us with a heavy wooden _thud_.

"It doesn't look like anyone uses this place," I said, frowning in dislike. I hated places that looked too empty.

"Strange," whispered Samiith. He sniffed the air, and I glanced quickly at the Argonian, knowing that his sense of smell was quite astonishing, very accurate. "Very strange. I can detect that people have been here recently. But they're not here now." His eyes open and they scoured the room. "They're not anywhere in this room, actually."

I closed my eyes and sniffed. I caught the faintest whiff of human flesh, but that was all. "Stale," I muttered in an undertone, acutely aware that the Imperials were nearby. They didn't seem to notice us, though; they were going further into the stone room to investigate. "But people have definitely been here. A lot of them, by the differences."

"Not just one person." Samiith's eyes narrowed. "From what I remember, bandit chieftains like to have rooms to themselves."

I glanced at Dasha. She was crouched down on the stone floor, seemingly investigating something on the ground, one hand on her hip and the other pressed lightly against the stone. "Well?" I inquired sharply of her, my patience with the Imperial drawn to a critically thin point. "What have you got?"

"Nothing yet," replied Dasha, though she didn't move.

I glared at her, taking a few steps away from Samiith, towards where I noticed the shadows stretched further than in another place. Another exit, I presumed, as I made out the faint outline of a doorway in the stretched shadows. I looked up at the ceiling. Through a small cleft in the stone walls, light shimmered through, dim with dusk. We must've been in the old fort for hours.

I headed to the doorway and tried the door. _Locked,_ I thought, as the handle refused to budge.

I turned back. "Dasha, there's a way out here."

She glanced up for a moment. "Hmm...yes, there is. Mind coming to check what this marking over here is, Huntress? You're the best at that line of work."

I frowned, suddenly feeling suspicious. Dasha had never given me a compliment before.

Slowly, I headed over to her. Patros headed over to the door to investigate it further, and Samiith joined him. Dasha didn't look up as she focused on something that I couldn't see yet. "What is it?"

"Not sure," Dasha said sarcastically. "Do you mind if you check? Some kind of insignia...not sure what it means, though."

I knelt down beside her. She moved slightly to the left, revealing the marking. I stared at the patch she had indicated, and felt my blood run cold.

An arrow, a moon and a wolf were engraved onto the stone. The _silver_ stone.

Too late. Dasha's hand moved; I caught a glint of something bright white, before it plunged into my shoulder. I screamed with agony as the silver burned into my flesh, into my blood, and I scrambled back from Dasha, who suddenly straightened, a satisfied smile playing on her face.

"Aela!" I heard Samiith shout. I whipped around to face him, alarm flashing from me, but too late; as the Argonian took a few steps towards me, Patros lashed out, his fist colliding with his skull. Samiith grunted, falling forwards onto his hands, and the Imperial mage approached him, a spell flashing in his fingertips in one hand, and a silver dagger clutched in the other.

"You fools," said Dasha, her voice oozing with more malice than I had ever heard from anything in my entire life. I looked back up at Dasha, the burning never leaving, and intensifying as it snaked its way down my arm and towards my heart. "None of you realized, did you? That is good; oh, he'll be so pleased to have two more lovely heads to add to his collection."

"Shit," I breathed, as I tried to stand. Almost at once I fell again, my legs unable to hold my weight, the dagger growing terribly painful where it was embedded in my flesh and blood. The wolf roared in agony, demanding that the painful metal was removed at once. Dasha laughed; the sound reverberated around the stone chamber, until ten Dashas were laughing at me, cruelly, malevolently, ringing in my mind and head.

"There's no point trying to run," Dasha said, walking forward to where I crouched, one hand groping desperately for the handle of the dagger. "The Silver Hand are already gathered outside, waiting to pick off any surviving werewolves who make it out alive. But I'll take great pleasure in cleaving the head from your shoulders, Huntress."

The dagger. I felt the dagger. Without hesitation, knowing the deadly power of silver, I dragged the dagger out with another scream of pain. In my hands, the metal burned white, my blood black against the blade, and a wave of heat washed over me. Immediately I dropped it on the stone, gritting my teeth as I felt my blood run freely down my back, over my armour. The burning feeling slowly left my body, and I slowly rose to my feet. Dasha smiled a thin-lipped smile.

"You're weakened; you dare stand to fight?" Dasha whispered, taking another step towards me, her weapon readied and aimed at my heart. "Against me, I might add? You're losing a lot of blood, Huntress. I don't think even Hircine's chosen could resist death. Daedric Princes never care excessively for their children, you know."

So she knew. What else did she know? I felt my blood run faster as I straightened up completely, forcing my bloodied hand to be lowered, forcing my breathing to deepen, even though already my vision was starting to cloud.

"You're traitors," I growled, sounding notoriously wolfish. "You came to the Companions to spy on us."

"And they were stupid enough to let us in," said Dasha, sounding satisfied. "For two years Patros and I stayed undercover, learning all we could. We heard the sounds of the werewolves. We already knew that the Circle had the beastblood. But then we met _you_..."

She raised her silver weapon. A dagger, small and easily concealed, hidden away like the one that had been driven into my shoulder, so that the Circle wouldn't notice it. "Aela the Huntress, you were called. You were respected so well by the townspeople, and had made quite a name for yourself in Jorrvaskr, particularly with the big hunt that you had with some of the Companions earlier that day. Of course, with a name like Huntress, we naturally were suspicious. And our suspicions were proved correctly." Dasha's eyes narrowed. "Not one day after our arrival we saw the amulet that hung around your neck, with the wolf's head, with the craft of a Daedric Prince. So you were chosen by Hircine himself?"

"How do you know I haven't always had the amulet, and I chose not to reveal it to you?" I spat, clenching my fists.

"Because Daedric artifacts aren't the most common things in existence," smiled Dasha. "And that is the truth, isn't it? You were visited personally by the Daedric Lord, and gifted with the amulet. And then we found out soon enough that you were in the Circle, which could only mean one thing; you became a werewolf, just like the rest of the idiots who thought the beastblood gave them great power."

Her voice hardened, becoming brittle with hatred. "It's a curse! Anything that bears the mark of a Prince is cursed. They don't care for mortals, only amusing themselves by toying in our affairs. So we have served Skyrim, and the rest of the world, in secret, for many decades. We eliminate the werewolves. We kill them, and mount their heads on pikes. We slaughter all the Companions we come across. Oh, and then our leader had the most _wonderful_ idea; why not hide in places where the enemy does not expect you to be?" Dasha's eyes narrowed, and her smile widened. "After all, the safest place in a world of danger is right beside it, in the place where it least expects you."

Eiwen's advice rang in my mind. _The places where enemies look little are the places where you will be safest. Hide in places farther, and you are in danger. Hide in places closer, and they will not discover you until the time is too late for turning back._ Why hadn't I realized then that her advice could easily backfire against us? She had said those words to me when I was anxious about entering the Reach, at the solemn weight that rested on my shoulders.

Oh, we hadn't looked in Jorrvaskr for our enemies, all right. We were all meant to be Shield-Siblings, not traitors and spies. What a clever idea, to send two agents of the Silver Hand undercover, imposing as simple mercenaries wanting to sign on with the Companions to learn honour and glory and companionship.

"The Companions are so easy to manipulate now," breathed Dasha, her eyes feverishly bright. "And now, with your death, we finally have proof that the honourable Companions assert themselves with Daedric lords. When I show the townspeople your amulet, and force the truth from the fetched Companions themselves, then the Companions will be destroyed. The Silver Hand will rise, and we will claim honour in Whiterun, never be feared or mistrusted again. We will forge our silver in the Skyforge, and we will sleep and eat well in your halls that we claim for ourselves."

She lashed out. I dodged, tripped over my own feet, and fell heavily, near Samiith. The Argonian was struggling to rise; Patos's foot was planted firm in the small of his back. But his furious eyes met Dasha's and he spat, "I knew there was a funny smell around you, you witch. Silver. I should have realized straightaway who you were."

"But you didn't, and that's what makes this victory even sweeter," Dasha replied. "I'm going to enjoy this." She drew her arm back.

And the wolf roared, and the survival instinct flared, and I had drawn out my dagger and flung it with all my might at Dasha's chest. She howled with pain as the dagger slammed into her arm, forcing her to drop her silver weapon which she had been about to plunge into Samiith's chest. I leapt to my feet, drawing my bow, my eyes travelling to Patros. The Imperial grinned, his smile and face full of malice, and drove his silver weapon down towards Samiith.

But the Argonain twisted sharply to his left, dislodging Patos, the weapon slamming on rock and skidding off to the side. In a flash Samiith was on his feet, sword drawn, and we faced Dasha and Patros, who recovered, keeping their weapons readied, Dasha holding my own dagger, and the silver one which she had picked up off the ground.

With a roar, Dasha lunged at me. In a flash I swept to the side, dodging the swipe, already pulling out an arrow and aiming for Dasha's heart. Samiith charged at Patros. The Imperial's smile vanished, to be replaced with a look of fury, as he spun around on heel and swished down with the silver dagger he clutched. A spell charged up in Patros's hand.

Dasha leapt. I released the arrow, and it buried itself into her leg. She yelled and fell on the stone, rolling to absorb the impact, and was on her feet again before I had even drawn another arrow. "Is that all you've got, Huntress?" she sneered, and her hand moved.

The silver dagger shot from her grasp and straight towards me. Instinctively I raised my bow to block it, and then heard the dagger crack. The bow jerked violently in my grasp, and I realized that the dagger had plunged straight into the hilt, piercing through the metal, nearly severing my bow in two. In horror, I realized it would never shoot another arrow again.

Dasha laughed, and anger – no, pure rage – flared in my blood. The wolf roared. But I didn't make the change. Instead, I charged at Dasha, and swung the bow around one final time. It collided with her head, and in my grip, I felt the bow finally sever, giving way into two parts. Dasha groaned, staggering drunkenly to the side, clutching her skull where my bow's final blow had struck her.

I threw the splintered pieces aside and leapt at Dasha, willing to strangle her with my bare hands. Instead, my hands hardened into fists, and I struck the hardest, meanest blow I could across Dasha's face. She cried out and staggered backwards, and I slammed my other fist onto her nose, feeling satisfaction flood through me as it broke and her red blood gushed freely down her face.

But Dasha was not an easy foe to beat. She blindly lashed out – I barely saved myself as my dagger whisked through the air, nearly slicing into my side. Immediately my hand went down and grasped her wrist, and I jerked it up, my strength well exceeding hers, and wrenched my weapon from her fingertips. Then I brought it slashing down across her arm, making her scream in pain, before kicking her as hard as I could in her armoured chest.

She fell, skidding across the stone, rolled, and was still.

I considered going after her, cutting her head off with a savage gloat of, "See how you like it!" And I probably would have, if I hadn't suddenly heard a scream of agony at the same time the room was illuminated with shocking blue light. I whirled around, in time to see Samiith blown off his feet by a bolt of lightning Patros had conjured in his hand. The Argonian slammed against the wall and slumped forward, barely conscious, breathing heavily.

"Samiith!" I screamed, and once more, I threw my dagger. It whistled through the air, the most melodious sound I had heard, and as Patros whipped around at my shriek, the dagger struck him firmly in the shoulder. He grunted in pain, crumpled, and collapsed from the sheer force of the blow, the spell dying in his hand, the silver weapon resting limp in his grasp.

I ran over to where Samiith crouched, and helped him to his feet. "We have to get out of here," I muttered urgently, glancing at where Dasha and Patros lay, unmoving, on the ground. Whether they were dead or just unconscious, I didn't know, didn't care, and didn't want to find out. All I knew was that we had to get out of here before more Silver Hand came in, and before I was too weakened to move; my injury in my back came back with full strength and I groaned softly at the pain that was spreading slowly down my arm.

Samiith nodded, determined, sense returning in his copper-gazed vision. He bent down and retrieved his shortsword and his shield, and glared at the two Imperials. "We should make sure they're dead first," he spat, his tail lashing.

"I'd like nothing better, but I really think we should get out of here," I growled. "Quite apart from the fact that I'm beginning to feel trapped. I've always had this feeling. I don't like it."

The sounds suddenly became clearer to us. Our acute hearing picked up the sound of rapid footsteps, heading quickly towards the door, and I realized that the Silver Hand were coming. That, or bandits, and I wasn't exactly prepared to meet either party.

"The other door!" I breathed, pointing towards it.

"But it's locked!"

I growled softly. "It's just us, brother. We can prove our strength."

Samiith nodded. "Good idea. Get behind me."

I obeyed, holding his shoulder firmly. Samiith raised his shield. Then, we charged, running like a battering ram. As we ran, I felt the strength of the wolf course through me, and allowed some of it to come through. I felt my bones beginning to shift, knew that I was growing stronger, and by the slight furriness of Samiith's shoulder, so was the Argonian werewolf –

And then we collided with the door and our combined strength completely smashed the half-rotted blockade off its hinges. We stumbled through, forcing our legs to keep moving, and reining in our wolves again. _Soon,_ I promised the complaining wolf within me. _But not now._

Blindly we ran. Samiith ran just ahead of me, sniffing constantly, smelling for fresh air. Soon I could smell it without even trying. Behind us, we could hear angry shouts, and realized that whoever was just behind us was approaching us fast. We didn't have much time, we had to get out of here. Then the doorway to the outside world appeared, and quickly, without even slowing pace, we charged towards it, and slammed our weight against it.

It flung open obligingly, expelling me and Samiith outdoors onto the cold, dew-dropped grass. Dusk fell all around us, the last of the day's light fading. I straightened, looking around, the wolf suddenly screaming with warning, as I made out the shapes of crouched warriors, all armoured, all with bows drawn and silver-headed arrows aimed straight at us, surrounding the entirety of the back door of the ruin.

"Get behind me!" hissed Samiith, flinging up his shield and running to stand in front of us.

But suddenly, a shout rang loudly and clearly across the clearing, a shout that made everyone freeze, including myself.

"Wait, wait! Stop! HOLD FIRE!"

* * *

For a moment, there was utter silence. All I could hear was the frantic beating of my heart. Samiith's panting. The faintest stretching sound as one of the Silver Hand archers adjusted his grip on his bowstring. Samiith, puzzled, straightened up just slightly, lowering his shield a little to look cautiously over the rim.

As for me, I straightened up completely, completely dazed, as I heard the shout, not daring to believe the voice. But it could have only belonged to one person...

Then I heard the footsteps. The softest rustling of a bush, as a man suddenly straightened from behind one, and walked quickly around it. His eyes were all for me, and my eyes were all for him, as he slowed his pace, walking steadily towards where Samiith and I stood.

It couldn't be...

It was. The hands went up, and threw the hood back, at the same time a voice of stunned disbelief whispered my name.

"Aela?"

And then his word fell from my lips.

"Panjor..."

It was him. It really was him. It couldn't be anyone else. His face, just as I remembered it, despite having been so many years since we had last seen each other, was fixed upon my own. I must have changed. From the young girl he had tutored into a huntress to this...a full-grown, twenty-five year old woman, huntress, Companion, Circle-sister...werewolf.

Samiith flashed me a stunned glance. "What? You...you know him?"

"He was my mentor..." the words were faint on my lips, and yet I was sure that everyone could hear me perfectly. "My friend..."

And then recognition flooded into Samiith's gaze. "Panjor. Your mentor. The one who gave you the silver arrows."

The silver arrows. Of course. At first, I had been confused. That it had meant utterly nothing to me. I thought I had understood what it meant when the Circle told me about the arrows' lethal danger to werewolves. I thought I had understood why I had them taken from me, conveniently disposed of. Now my mind flashed to the carvings of the arrow, the moon , the wolf. There could have been no clearer statement than that. The arrows...the silver arrows...oh, Gods...

The truth finally came to me. It was so obvious now.

"You were training me," I said quietly, numb with disbelief, to Panjor.

He nodded. "Clever girl," he said, and his voice...it was one I recognized so well...it was the voice that he used when we were alone in the wilderness together, speaking casually to one another, irritating each other with comebacks, each trying to win the argument as if there was a prize to claim at the end of it. The voice which I had treasured when I was with my beloved mentor. "What else?"

My voice hardened. "You weren't training me to become a huntress. You were training me to become one of them. The Silver Hand."

Panjor nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "True to a point," he said. "I taught you to hunt. It has proven you useful, yes? I taught you how to hunt, and you had such _talent_..." He took a few steps towards me, completely unconcerned. "You learned things like a master. You read tracks with great fluency. Your skill with a bow and arrows was unlike anything I had ever seen before, at such a young age."

His praises, once inspiring so much pride within me, now felt like blows against my heart.

"Your friends," I croaked, hardly daring to believe, hardly wanting to believe. "Your friends that you hunted with...that you had to leave suddenly with..."

Panjor smiled. "We hunted, yes, but not animals. We would find werewolves everywhere in Skyrim, hiding in dark places, crawling out into the light and into our traps, in rather the same manner that you walked into the trap laid down by the three wolves in Whiterun Hold. Where you nearly died. Why I gave you the three marks of evergreen warpaint upon your face, upon completion of your training." His smile remained, his eyes grew cold. "And I had to go quickly. Werewolves, as you know, are very fast. They travel. They linger only for moments in one place before moving to another territory."

And then his smile faded.

"You were my apprentice, Aela, and I loved you for that. Your willingness to learn was amazing. Your heart was completely in the hunt. What if your heart was in the art of hunting werewolves, I asked myself. You would be unstoppable. You would become like me, a leader of the Silver Hand, and we would be with one another until death parts us. I did not expect the young girl from Rorikstead, the oldest of the family, who looked out at Whiterun with wanting evident in her gaze, to become such a talented apprentice who lusted for knowledge and for experience."

Panjor looked steadily at me, though I don't think I could have broken the gaze if I had wanted to. "Do you remember, young Aela, how we first met? How you first became my apprentice?"

I nodded. How could I forget? I had only been six years old at the time but the memory was burned into my mind like a brand. The night when I had gone outside to feed the goats, and seen the stranger walking along the road, that I had not yet learned to be mistrustful of outsiders, and that I had gone and spoken to the man, who revealed himself to be a hunter. I wish that I could hunt, I had said to him. I wish that I could hunt, but I have nothing to hunt with. Well, said the kind man, I can help you achieve your dream, you know, if you promise to dedicate your life to learning how to hunt. Really? I had asked, astonished at his kindness. And then he had smiled warmly, and asked to be taken into the house so I could meet my family, as he needed a place to stay for the night, and hand in hand, I had led him into my cottage.

"You promised to dedicate your life learning how to hunt, girl," said Panjor, taking another step forward. "You were so young and naïve then. You thought that hunting simply meant killing animals. As you grew and learned you realized that there was more to hunting than simply firing an arrow. My intention then was to train this young girl whose passion for hunting was incredible, to support her, to befriend her, and then gradually draw her away from the town, to the world of hunting shadows. Hunting werewolves."

And then he scowled, and I felt fear clutch at my heart. Panjor had never grown angry with me, not once in my life, the closest he came to anger being heavy frustration. "What I did _not_ expect," Panjor spat venomously, "was for that young girl to leave Rorikstead earlier than I intended her to, and to go to Whiterun, of all cities, to join with the Companions. My apprentice, like a daughter to me, amidst my very enemies!"

"The Companions are not my enemies," I said to him, and my voice grew in strength, as my fear died. "They are my friends. They were always there for me when I needed them, always there to fight with me when I fought, to bleed with me when I bled. You weren't always around, Panjor. You vanished off in the blink of an eye. If you had wanted me so badly to join the Silver Hand, to spend twelve years of your life training me for that moment when I would become like you, you should have told me the truth."

"Yes," muttered Panjor, half to himself. "I should have."

His eyes blazed. "Now I see what you have become, Aela. I trained you too well. You have devoted your life to hunting, and your soul, to the Daedric Prince Hircine. And you have taken the ultimate sense of betrayal to me. You have become the very creature which I have been hunting for the past quarter century."

I didn't know what to say. Too many emotions were churning within me. All that I knew was that my heart was pounding faster and faster in me. That I knew it would only be a matter of moments.

"If you are going to kill me, Panjor, you should have done it already, and saved me the pain of seeing you, and realizing who you truly were," I said calmly, without fear, because within me, there was nothing left. "All that I have known is that for two years I have walked in the shadows. I have walked as a daughter of the moon. And I do not intend on changing who I am."

"Nor do I," said Panjor slowly, almost wonderingly. "Nor do I."

His gaze hardened. "I saved you once from wolves. I saved your life. I nursed you back to health. Now it has all been wasted, and I will not repeat it." He began to retreat, taking long, slow, deliberate steps behind him, and the air was suddenly filled with tension. "Such a shame that I must end it here."

"Panjor..." the word died in my throat.

Panjor's gaze, the sharp, sensitive gaze which I had loved looking into when I had been his apprentice, the gaze which had so freely displayed so many of his emotions, of pride and of love and of irritation when I got a good retort in during our arguments, focused upon my own. There was no love. Now there was only hate. Black hate. He no longer saw me as his apprentice. He saw me as a werewolf. A werewolf that deserved to die. "Secure them, Krev," I heard Panjor say.

Hands grabbed me from behind, and another wrapped around my throat, and for a moment I struggled, wildly, even though I knew that I couldn't overpower whoever was holding me from behind. Beside me, Samiith pulled wildly against his securers. My heart sank into the depths of my stomach as I saw Dasha and Patros holding him tight, their eyes bright. They were not dead.

"Old Krev's going to enjoy skinning you when this is over," a voice hissed in my ear, and I felt terror pulse through me; terror knowing that this was the end. This was the time when I was going to die.

I was found staring once more, one last time, into the eyes of my friend. Panjor. He looked at me steadily.

"Farewell, daughter of the moon," was all he said. And then he turned away.

"Panjor..." the word became more desperate, coming through as a whisper. No, Gods, please, he couldn't do it, he couldn't execute his own apprentice...

He did.

"Fire," said Panjor.

I screamed his name.

The arrows sung.

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhanger time! Never fear, I will run away immediately and write chapter thirty-seven. I've been anticipating writing this chapter for soooo long. And I hope it turned out okay. Please tell me via reviews if you liked it!**


	38. Chapter 37 - Torn and Healed

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I was dead.

I _had_ to be dead.

Not even a chosen daughter of Hircine could survive an onslaught of silver-headed arrows. Arrows aimed at my head, my throat, my broken heart...

So why did I still feel? Why could I still think? Why was I feeling nothing but intense pain in my chest?

Hell, not just in my chest. All over.

I tried to move. I tried to do something, anything. But I just had no strength to. It was as if my body had just given up on me, even though I vaguely was aware that I was still alive, my heart still beat, slowly but surely, in my chest. My spirit was still trapped on this world. What I couldn't understand was why I was alive. I had seen the arrows come. I had seen them sink into my body. I had screamed.

One name.

Panjor.

Gods, no. He couldn't have. He just couldn't have. But he did. And that was what shocked me the most, what struck me hardest, what tore my heart into tiny little pieces as a werewolf tore an elk into nothing but meaty, mangled lumps to rot in the grass...

Memory. Another thing which I still clutched vainly onto. I still had memory. I could still remember incidents in the past, clear as day. I could still remember why I had been struck with arrows. Why Panjor had mentored me at all. Why I was here...

And then I realized something.

Where _was_ I?

All around me was movement. Agitated, distressed, but there was a feeling of calm settling in their chest. I could still sense their emotions, though I was sure that I had died. Why hadn't I died? Why couldn't I have died? Knowing such bitter betrayal, I didn't feel as if I wanted to live anymore.

And then there was warmth. A gentle touch to my chest.

"She's stable." I heard a voice, one I recognized well. It was my Harbinger. He was beside me. How did he get here so quickly? Or had I been unconscious for a long time?

"Will she make it?" Now I heard another voice, another voice which I recognized, and I knew that Skjor was there, was right beside me as well, that he was anxiously leaning over me and wanting to call me back from the depths of Oblivion, if I was truly there. I didn't have to open my eyes to see him. I don't think I had the strength to do anything but live.

"Of course," said Kodlak. "She's very strong. She always has been. She's been too stubborn to die on anything, or anyone."

"Or maybe it just wasn't her time," murmured Skjor.

Maybe it wasn't my time.

Hircine.

He had to have a part in this. My heart pieced itself together. Surely, after all this time, the Father of Manbeasts wasn't watching over me still? He had said that there was to be no favouritism. He had said that to my face, if he had existed in that land of communing, when I had spoken to him through the arcane powers of his token.

The amulet.

Was it still there? Was it still hung around my chest? It had to still be there. It had been there ever since I first learned the secrets of the Circle. But if it was there, I didn't have the strength to move it. The pain gripped me hard. I wanted to moan. I wanted to scream. But my lips refused to budge one inch to allow the sound to come through.

But if the Huntsman didn't let me die, surely that was a touch too close to favouritism? He had stood by and watched Eiwen die. He didn't do anything. He said that he had no powers to stop someone from dying. Nothing did. Eventually, everything died. Unless...unless it hadn't been my time. Unless there was still something for my Lord I needed to do.

I was his chosen. One of them, at least.

I had to be alive to do something. I had to have a purpose.

"Is she awake?" I heard Skjor say softly, as though I was just resting.

"No. Not yet. But she will be, soon." Kodlak sighed heavily. "And now I must be alone, to grieve my last. These are dark times fallen over the Companions." And then there was silence.

I wasn't awake? So how could I think? How could I feel? How could I even hear?

"Aela?" I heard Skjor say beside me. "If you can hear me, I want you to know...I want you to know that I'm here for you. Always, and death won't part us. Never. We still have a promise that we made a long time ago to keep." His voice suddenly grew angrier. "Don't die on me, Aela! You can't die, not now! You have to return to us. We've already lost Samiith, we can't lose you too!"

And then silence.

A soft sigh, perhaps of disappointment, and then I sensed his warmth leave me. He, too, was gone.

And once more, I was alone.

* * *

When I next became aware that I was alive, my memory returned much quicker, and I even had a little strength. Just a little. Enough for me to move my arm. Just a bit, but enough. My fingertips brushed against the amulet, and with what precious strength I had left, I closed my hand protectively around it, and willingly reentered the consuming darkness.

But this time it was not mindless and empty as my cold sleeps were. This time, I could see traces of dark blue and purple, mists that swirled around my vision, and I could hear the sounds of the hunt. The thundering of hooves. Splashes in a river. Whirl of wings. A growl of a bear, the soft, cooing purr of a sabre cat tending its young, a grunt of a troll as it stumbled in its step, and its companion letting out a series of spasmic grunts which I could only presume was laughter...

_Welcome back, my child,_ I heard Hircine's melodious voice whisper in my ear. _I wondered when you would return to this plane._

"And what is this plane?" I asked, relieved when I could hear myself speak. But it was stiff and awkward, my jaws not working properly, my tongue brushing against twin rows of sharp fangs, and a growl edging every sound I made.

I heard a horse snort nearby. A chicken cluck as it scratched in the dirt, searching for grubs.

_This is the Communal, where few enter, and few return,_ said Hircine. _But my gift to you has allowed us to speak freely to one another. And you have not used it to your advantages, I see, only in your time of need. I chose well._

I had many things I wanted to say.

"Why did you let me survive?" I began.

The shriek of a bull elk as its life was abruptly cut away from it. A bird's shrill twitter before it fell from the sky. A rabbit's squeal of pain and terror as it fled in vain before the talons of the eagle.

_I did not let you live, _said the Father, almost angrily. _The power of life and death does not fall to me. All I will do is protect those I find worthy enough of my guidance. But you have proven yourself to be a survivor, Aela. And you have been loyal to me to the very end. The arrows struck your heart, and I watched you die. But I denied entrance to your soul. You still have a task that needs to be done._

I was surprised. I had not expected this answer. "You didn't let my soul come into the Hunting Grounds?"

A hawk's lonely screech. The pounding of wolf paws over the earth. The panting of a fox as it crouched in a ditch, having outrun a series of hounds that lusted for its blood.

_No,_ said Hircine simply. _I do not control death. But I do control what spirit comes into my plane. With nowhere to go, your wolf had to return to you, though the process was difficult. Indeed, I thought that your body would reject your spirit, believing itself to be dead. But you have been very strong, my daughter. Very strong indeed. Stronger than most mortals who dare to cross my path._

"What is the task which you require done, my Lord?" I asked, in greater respect.

The enraged snarl of a sabre cat as it defended fallen prey. The whistle of an arrow as it shot through the air, embedding itself into the haunches of a wild animal that cried aloud with agony. Perhaps it was a buck, I vaguely thought.

_The Silver Hand,_ hissed my Lord, with great bitterness in his voice, more bitter than any poison. _They have been irksome thorns in my side for too long. While dealing with them is too small a task for me, it is not too small, indeed exciting and dangerous, for my servant._

"And that servant is me, I guess?" I presumed sarcastically.

I did not hear the sounds of the hunt. Instead, I heard a laugh. A deep laugh, booming with life and with scents, a laugh that sent energy searing through every inch of my body.

_You are truly spirited, my child!_ The Lord of the Hunt said, almost jovially. _You regard me with little fear, but know your place. That is good. And I know that you lust to return to the world of the living. To destroy the one who betrayed you so utterly._

"Panjor." The name fell like bitter poison from my lips. It would leave a scar on my heart forever.

The great commotion as an eagle took flight over the lands of Skyrim. The sound of a group of deer stampeding across the great flat grasslands of Skyrim.

_Their leader must be eliminated, for the rest to scatter,_ said Hircine. _And he believes you dead. But you are not. You are my daughter. And you are a sister of the Companions, to wolfkin alike. And be warned; though the Silver Hand are...say, formidable to mortalkind, know that you bear my blessings. I expect you, as my servant, to use them to serve me._

I bowed my head. "Yes, my Lord." Straightening, I said, "But there is one more thing I must ask."

The cawing of a crow in a desolate landscape.

_Very well. One more,_ agreed Hircine.

"I am not myself when I come to the Communal. What am I?"

The patter of paws. The snarl. The smell of blood. The knowledge that I was trapped. Watching them hunt, watching them run, climbing mountains, racing across the face of the world in all places...the true hunters of the world.

_I think, my daughter, you already know,_ said Hircine. _Go now, and serve me. Hunt forever in my name!_

* * *

When I next awoke, I felt the energy that I had obtained from Hircine's jollity coursing through my veins. It had remained. And it had become strength. Almost effortlessly, I opened my eyes.

And almost immediately closed them again as I felt the slam of pain against my chest, as if I had run headlong into a wall.

The aches grasped me hard. The sharpness in my chest felt as if there was trapped glass embedded in my flesh, though some part of me was aware that there was nothing there. Nothing but torn flesh that would, in time, knit and heal. Slowly, I opened my eyes.

I was staring up into darkness. For a moment, I wondered if I really had died. Then my senses adjusted, and I made out the patterns of stone, above my head. Some internal instinct told me that I was in the Underforge. I frowned in puzzlement. How did I get here?

And then I became aware of something else. My armour wasn't on. I was dressed in light, loose garments, though they didn't feel light nor loose – perhaps that was because of the heavy bandages that were strapped over my chest. Stiffly I turned my head to the side. And there, right beside me, was Skjor, his eye looking at me with great concern, which melted into relief as our gazes met.

"You're awake." He was at my side in an instant.

I closed my eyes briefly. "You do realize I was about one hair's width away from entering the Hunting Grounds?" Gods, it hurt to talk.

"We thought so, too," said Skjor. "You were so still, barely moving, when we finally found you in Fellglow Keep."

Fellglow Keep. Panjor. Death. It all came back in a flash.

I turned my head to Skjor. "Where's...where's Samiith?" I rasped. "He's...he's all right, isn't he?"

Skjor's gaze shadowed, and he looked away.

"Oh, Gods..." No. No, he couldn't be gone. Not Samiith. Please, not Samiith.

"He was already dead when we found him," Skjor murmured, his voice hollow. "He couldn't have survived. There were four arrows in his heart. Two were in his throat."

"And how...how did I survive?" I whispered.

"I don't know." Skjor sighed, his eyes narrowed. "There was a damned arrow sticking out of your chest. You felt cold as ice to the touch. But I sensed life in you and knew that there was hope."

But there was something that confused me. "They...they wanted my head, Skjor," I said quietly. "I did die. But here I am now, not decapitated, and quite alive."

"That fact eludes me," muttered Skjor. His gaze turned to me. "But what do you mean, you died?"

"I said I was a hair's breadth from entering the Hunting Grounds," I said. "Hircine can't defy death. But he rewarded me for being his loyal servant. He denied entrance to the Hunting Grounds. My spirit had no choice but to return to my body."

For a moment, Skjor sat in stunned silence, and then he smiled.

"Hell, Aela, you really are an Oblivion Walker."

I didn't take that as a compliment, or as an insult. Instead, I just whispered, "How long was I out?"

"Four days. Kodlak was beginning to doubt you'd make it."

"But Samiith..."

"I'm sorry, Aela. But he is dead. He gained entrance to the Hunting Grounds." Skjor looked at me carefully. "Did our Lord say why he spared your soul?"

"I have to...I have to kill Panjor." The name stuck in my throat. "It's what my Lord wants. He wants the Silver Hand wiped out and destroyed. And to do so, I'm going to have to go through Panjor. My..."

My murderer. There was no doubt about it.

And suddenly, my heart didn't ache for him anymore.

Panjor was with the Silver Hand. That was the fact. And I had come over the shock. Now, I just felt rage. Rage that he held my life in my hands, and had cast it aside, had ordered my death.

"Panjor...wasn't he your old hunting mentor?" asked Skjor quietly.

I nodded. The movement was difficult to make, lying down, but somehow I managed it. "He was the one who gave the command."

Skjor's eyes widened in shock. "He...he was with the Silver Hand?"

"He's their leader." I closed my eyes. "He was training me to become one of them. But he didn't realize I'd leave home so soon. He didn't intend for me to side with his enemies. And he didn't expect me at all to become a werewolf. So he killed me."

"But you didn't die. Not permanently, at least," said Skjor.

"And I think that he's the one who killed Taija."

My words hung in the air. I didn't even realize what I had said until now. But when I did...I realized that I had known. Deep in my heart, as I lay unconscious in the Underforge, only thinking, only remembering, I had known that Panjor had killed Taija. There could be no doubt about it.

Skjor's face was stony. And then his eye narrowed, and a black look of hate and fury came into his gaze.

"Taija died seven years ago," he muttered. "We still have not avenged her death." He turned to me. "And I will help you fulfill our Lord's task. You remember the promise that we made, seven years ago, before I left to complete my Trial?"

" 'We hunt together'." I repeated the words. I had not spoken them in so long.

Skjor nodded. "We hunt together, Aela. We hunt for Taija and for Samiith, and for our Lord Hircine. We hunt the killers of our friends. Now that we know who the slayers are, we will avenge them. Not today, not tomorrow, not next year. When the time is right."

Our gazes met.

"We hunt together, and forever," I murmured. "Until death break us, and reunite us."

And somehow, those words gave me strength.

* * *

The sun was warm, so lovely and warm, on my skin, my battered body. I relaxed in the chair, letting the sun's warmth bathe me and my wounds, gently healing where the silver had pierced me, where traces of the deadly metal still remained. I closed my eyes and leaned back a little more, feeling completely at peace.

Farkas and Vilkas were out walking around the town. Kodlak was, once again, in his room. Lemaat and Myllasa were just in Jorrvaskr. And Skjor was beside me, as he always was nowadays. Vaguely I wondered where the others were.

And then I realized that there were no others. Aileen and Derrick and Fang were in High Rock. Vignar Gray-Mane showed up so little in Jorrvaskr anymore we had all forgotten him. Eiwen was dead. Ornith was in Morrowind. Orgmund ran wild in the depths of Tamriel. Samiith was dead.

The Argonian's loss had struck me hard. He had died, when I had not. And each passing day I missed him. We all did; he had been one of the few who had accepted me, despite my mistake when Orgmund tested my mettle. He had been a wise councilor and formidable in battle. He had helped Farkas and Vilkas, and fought for the boys to stay. And he had been a close friend to me. We had entered danger together, and come through it, many times. We had travelled over Skyrim. We had faced the dangers of Fellglow Keep and escaped the place together. Only to meet our dooms just outside, where we had been lured into an ambush, and where I had learned the truth about my old mentor.

Panjor. He was the one responsible. And I knew that my fury would not abate until he lay dead at my hand. Nothing else would sate this new Bloodlust. And I had realized what caused it. Grief. Grief made my Bloodlust rise, consume my body and soul, overpowering the amulet. So many of my friends were gone, and two of them were dead, and still the Bloodlust throbbed in the darkest depths of my mind, where the wolf in me prowled.

The door behind me opened. I glanced over my shoulder, and Skjor stood up, and I saw Myllasa there.

"You won't believe who's here," she said, and I saw that she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Come and see for yourself." Myllasa slipped back indoors.

She sounded so happy in these troubled times in Jorrvaskr that my curiosity was piqued. I stood up; at least I didn't have to have help standing up anymore. It had taken the best of three months' slow and painful recovery but I was healing steadily and could soon begin building up my strength again. Skjor and I headed back indoors...

And Myllasa was right. I didn't believe who was here.

One year after he had left Jorrvaskr, he was back, standing calmly in the hall of Jorrvaskr. Ornith. The Dunmer who I had believed I would never see again was here. He had returned. And he was not alone.

He looked up. Familiar crimson eyes focused upon my own. And he smiled, and I smiled in response, heading down the stairs at a swift pace, fortunately not tripping down them as I had done the other day, and approached him.

"You're looking..." Ornith paused, looking thoughtfully at me for a moment. "...all right," he said eventually.

"Oh, shut up," I said to him, though I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

Ornith was looking very well. He wasn't dressed in his light leather armour anymore. He was dressed in a travelling tunic, with big leathery boots, and a furry cloak that fell over his back and could easily be drawn around him if it grew too cold. His face, I saw, looked less lined, and more youthful and energetic. "I take it things fare well in Morrowind?" I inquired.

Ornith nodded. "Very well. I did as I had hoped. I got a peaceful job. I haven't touched my blades since I came to my sister's place in Narsis. And it feels so rejuvenating, not waking up thinking if I'm going to kill anything today. It's really done wonders to my health."

He smiled some more and stepped back, revealing his two companions. "I hadn't even realize how much my sister's children had grown up. But here they are."

There they were. Two Dunmer, just out of their adolescence, stood near the fire, looking not at all shy nor boastful. One of them was slender, wearing what I noted to be Ornith's old leather armour, and looked well-muscled. She had black spiral warpaint down her cheek and flowing red hair, as russet as my own. The other, obviously her brother, was very lean, with brown hair twisted back into a ponytail, and white streaks of warpaint around his dark red eyes. He nodded as our gazes met.

"This is my niece and nephew, Irileth and Athis," Ornith introduced proudly. "My sister named them well, don't you think?"

"If the names mean something in Dunmeris, then I haven't a clue," I said apologetically. "Nice to meet you."

Irileth nodded. "And you, Aela."

I was surprised. "You know my name?"

"Ornith told us about his old friends," Athis replied. He had a haughty note to his voice, and I was reminded strongly of Derrick for a moment. "You were amongst them, I believe. You call yourself Huntress."

"That's because I am one."

"We journeyed with our uncle when he decided to return to Jorrvaskr and see how things were getting on in this place," Irileth said, perhaps noticing my slight curiosity as to why they were here. "It seems that you have fallen on hard times. You have lost many to your number."

I nodded. Dasha, Patros, Orgmund, Samiith...all gone within the one year of Ornith's absence.

"We have been trained by Ornith in the fighting arts," said Athis, folding his arms. "And we're more than ready to defend ourselves. So we'd like to join on with the Companions, if you don't mind."

That was so much like Derrick and Lemaat's personalities mixed together that I couldn't help but laugh inside. I was pretty sure that the day was dawning brightly over Jorrvaskr. "Well, it's not in my authority to decide if you've got enough mettle to stay, so head down into the undercroft and let the Harbinger take a look at you," I said to them, struggling to keep my face composed, and allowed Irileth and Athis to pass, heading down towards the indicated undercroft, Myllasa showing the way.

We waited until the undercroft door clicked shut. Then only Ornith, Skjor, Lemaat and I were left in the room, and we turned back to the Dunmer. "Thank you," said Lemaat quietly, his voice earnest. "I think the two are more than ready to become whelps."

Ornith nodded. "I think so, too. My sister recommended that they come with me. It's about time they got out and served Tamriel. They've always been interested in the Companions, ever since I told them about my time there." He turned to me. "The Redguards told me what had happened to you and Samiith. I am very sorry to hear that he is dead."

"As we all are," I replied, subdued. "But you don't need to go feeling sorry for me."

Ornith chuckled. "I wasn't feeling sorry for you. I can see it's going to take more than about half a dozen arrows stuck in your chest to take you away from the Companions."

I nodded. _If only you knew..._

"And it's good to see you again, old friend," Skjor said, with a grin. "I was beginning to wonder if any happiness would return to the halls of Jorrvaskr."

Ornith shrugged. "Please, friends, the honour of returning to this place is all mine. I hope that for many long years Athis and Irileth serve Jorrvaskr with all of their hearts. Be warned, though; they can be very strong-willed and feisty at times, remarkably like someone I know." He turned pointedly towards me, and I pointedly rolled my eyes at him, to Skjor's and Lemaat's chuckles.

And as we relaxed and spoke to Ornith, I felt happiness sear through me. For the first time in a long time I was content that I had been spared from permanent death. This was a beginning for a new age in Jorrvaskr, I knew, with Athis's and Irileth's comings. Even if they didn't stay, I was sure that finally, all the grief that we had endured over the past few years was going to slowly heal. For too long, we had been torn by grief.

What better way to heal grief than with life? There was no better gift.

My own little pearl of wisdom, I noted with satisfaction. And one day, perhaps long into the future, I'll be passing them on.

END OF PART THREE

* * *

**A/N: And that's the end of Part 3. Hope you guys are liking the story! I know I'm enjoying writing it.**

**And that's the last we'll hear of Ornith. Goodbye! Purely out of my imagination that the Dunmer that you see when you first enter Jorrvaskr brawling with Njada Stone-Arm is Irileth's brother, and that those two are Ornith's niece and nephew. Hope you like the idea :)**

**That's also the last we hear of Myllasa and Lemaat. Hope you enjoyed the two Redguard warriors. Don't worry, they don't die; during the next thirteen years that pass since Samiith goes to the Hunting Grounds they leave the Companions and head home to Hammerfell. And I don't think that's the last we'll hear of Dasha or Patros, either.**

**The next time the story is set will be present-day: 4E201. And very soon, in chapter thirty-nine, we will see the Dragonborn for the first time. Please review as to how you thought Part 3 was.**


	39. Chapter 38 - The Dream

**A/N: And now we're into Part Four! This is going to probably be the shortest part with only 9 chapters in it, but it's undoubtedly significant to Aela's life, and to the life of the Companions. Please please please review!**

**And I want to say here and now that in one day alone, I got 516 views. 516! That's the most views I've ever had in one day. You guys are just too awesome to even begin to describe. Big thankyou to all who's reviewed thus far!  
**

* * *

PART FOUR: LOST IN THE SHADOW

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Day hadn't broken yet. So there was still plenty of cover. The antlered buck half-raised its head in caution, as though expecting to find me somewhere.

But I had taken care to keep myself exceptionally well-hidden, and I gave myself a satisfied smile. The scrubby heather that grew amongst the wild grasses of Whiterun Hold were always perfect for hiding oneself in. The buck lowered its head and continued its grazing. But I knew that its guard was up. Had it detected my scent? The winds of Whiterun could easily change course. They had been blowing towards me last, carrying my scent away from where the quarry stood.

Very, very slowly, I raised my bow, the arrow pressed tightly to the bowstring. Narrowing my eyes in concentration, I searched for the best place to hit the deer. I smiled a little to myself, feeling amused. Hadn't I done this before, all those years ago? When I was just sixteen, a shy hunter's apprentice, out on her very first hunting session alone?

Now all those years had passed, flown by, so I could barely count how much time had passed. All that I knew was that I was now thirty-seven. Thirteen years passed to the day Athis and Irileth had come to Whiterun, thirteen years to the day that I had died and returned. And in those thirteen years, I had done all I could to serve my Lord. I hunted always in his name, and searched for the Silver Hand, but they were elusive, slipping out of my grasp constantly.

Though Jorrvaskr had fallen on hard times before, it wasn't now. Now, we were a family once more.

I had seen new bloods come and leave, but some had decided to stay. Athis remained behind, a hotblooded member of the Companions, but undoubtedly loyal. We have three new whelps; Njada Stone-Arm, Torvar, and an Imperial woman named Ria. It took me a long time to get used to Ria, but she had been with the Companions for about a year now and she had proven us strong and determined and particularly loyal.

The buck lifted its head once more, and I could shoot. I smiled, relaxing my hand, letting the twine snap from my fingers, propelling my arrow straight. Guided by Hircine's blessing, it struck the deer where I had intended the arrow to be aimed; in the eye. It was a tricky place to hit, but it was the best way to preserve its hide. The deer cried out briefly, and then sank down onto the grass.

I leapt out from the heather, landing surely on my feet, whirling the bow up onto my shoulders and pulling out my skinning knife. I knelt down beside the unmoving buck and set to work removing its hide. It was quite fine, a tawny brown with soft creamy white patches dotting the stiff hairs. I muttered the quick prayer of release to Hircine as I worked, wishing the deer's spirit well in the Hunting Grounds, and began to work swiftly. I was eager to return back to Jorrvaskr.

Ah, but nostalgia fluttered through my mind as I worked. It was incredible how much had happened in the thirteen years of passing. Myllasa and Lemaat were gone; one of the last traces of who I now called the early Companions wiped off the face of Mundus. But they were in Hammerfell now, perhaps raising a family, or serving as sellswords in those desert lands. I'd miss them.

But though the Circle had once been reduced from six to three, we were now five. Because Farkas and Vilkas became members. And then they became werewolves.

It was the first time, I remembered, that I had been there to assist in the first transformation. Vilkas had drunk the beastblood and transformed with struggle, but Skjor said it was an 'easy' transformation, when the wolf came quickly, swiftly overpowering the body, causing little harm. We had ushered Vilkas out through the passage that led into Whiterun Hold and been with him as he hunted, keeping him away from civilization.

Farkas had been a different matter. We had all been cautious of his powerful strength, but it was truly unleashed the moment he took the beastblood. He had been difficult to transform. We had tried to get him outside but already he had blundered through the Underforge door that led directly into Whiterun. He had then led a one-man savage, killing three guardsmen before we managed to lure him away with calls of the wild. It had taken a lot of hushing up and false hunting for the matter to finally be left, and any faint suspicions of the Companions to be snuffed out.

Now they had been werewolves for about eight, nine years. They had adapted to the beastblood. But I noticed that they were nowhere near as content with it as Skjor and I were with our own. Even Kodlak had been different; since he had contracted the rot he hadn't left Jorrvaksr once, or transformed. He had taken to locking himself in his quarters, not to be disturbed, though when I went inside a few times to speak to Kodlak about any difficulties inside and outside Jorrvaskr, I always saw books on the table, books at Kodlak's feet. What his intentions were, we weren't sure.

And Kodlak himself was getting on in years. Nearing his sixty-seventh birthday, Kodlak still had strength, though it was diminishing rapidly because of the rot. And he never spoke so openly of Hircine anymore. He never even said our Lord's name aloud. "Names have power," he'd say, but my sharpened acute senses would tell me he had other reasons for not uttering Hircine's name.

Soon I was finished with gathering the spoils from the fallen buck. I straightened and set off back to Whiterun Hold. Dawn was just rising over Whiterun.

As I headed towards the gates, I heard a husky voice call out, "Goods and wares from Elsweyr!"

So the Khajiit caravan were here again. I wondered how much they'd give me for meat and furs. I headed towards the skin tents just outside the first gate leading up to the city, to see the Khajiit merchants gathered around the fire. One of them was busy chopping wood, his white-tipped tail dangerously close to the shimmering flames. Another was tanning some leather. A third was asleep on a bedroll. A fourth, the eldest Khajiit, with moon-white hair and faded eyes, was crouched, cross-legged, on a mat outside his tent, and he looked up to me, recognition fluttering in his pale gaze.

"Huntress," he said, a heavy Elsweyr accent coming on. "What goods do you have for us today?"

"The usual," I replied, setting the meat and the hide down on the grass just before him. "How much will you give me for them?"

"Hmm...depends on the quality, Huntress," the Khajiit said, rolling out the deer hide. His ears pricked. "Excellent, excellent...Ri'saad gives you ninety septims for this hide."

"Done." We exchanged the gold. "And for the meat?"

"Forty." I agreed, and he passed over another pouch of coin.

"Perhaps you would like to look at some of our wares?" the Khajiit invited me.

I paused. I had been dealing with this Khajiit caravan for the past three years, making steady profit off one another, having to do it outside the gates because racial laws in the city forbid them to enter Whiterun. And by now I had grown used to their appearance; fur covering every inch of their bodies, feline faces with whiskers and pointed ears, claws that could be sheathed and unsheathed from their fingers, and their strange way of speaking, always speaking in third person.

"Maybe next time," I replied. "I really should be heading back."

"Ah, ah, Ri'saad understands," the Khajiit replied. "May your road lead you to warm sands."

Whenever he said that traditional Khajiit farewell, I always thought of Hammerfell. I headed away from the caravan and back up to Whiterun.

Heading inside, I thought of what had changed in this city as well. Jarl Igvund had stepped down from his post of Jarl of Whiterun several years ago and his heir took the throne. Jarl Balgruuf had proven to be quite the leader, always putting his people first. And Jorrvaskr looked up to Balgruuf with respect, particularly with Irileth serving as his Housecarl. She had lingered for a while around Jorrvaskr and then left, deciding that she wanted to be a soldier rather than a professional mercenary. It was on the battlefield that she met Jarl Balgruuf and the pair had become like Shield-Siblings. When Jarl Balgruuf took the throne he demanded that Irileth, despite her heritage at being a Dunmer, to become his Housecarl. I was satisfied with this decision. It proved to what arrogant Nords there were in the city that blood and race did not matter in the slightest. However, Khajiit still had to stay outside the city walls.

I headed up to Jorrvaskr, passing the Gildergreen as I did so. The tree was nothing now; its leaves were all gone, and its bark was hardened and white, and when the wind came through the branches were as hollow as bones, knocking listlessly against one another. I was a little sad that the Gildergreen was lost. It had been so peaceful to sit under when times were hard in Jorrvaskr.

I entered the mead hall to see Farkas standing near the fire. He looked up as I entered, and said, "Ah, you're back. Wondered when you would."

"Lord's bow, I'm not expected again, am I?"

Farkas shrugged. "All Circle members go to the Underforge. Kodlak wants to speak with us. He sent me to wait for you, so I don't know what he wants."

I was puzzled. Kodlak had barely emerged from the undercroft at all, coming up to the top floor to eat and drink with us, but that was all. He seemed reluctant these days to go into the Underforge. Maybe the place had bad memories for him. It did for me; the one time I clearly remembered being in there was when Orgmund had finally succumbed to the feral ways, promptly attacking and wounding all the members of the Circle, before he used what little control he had left to take himself away from me and the Companions. For thirteen years we had heard new of a horror scouring the landscape, but it was a wild goose chase; Orgmund was proving as elusive as the Silver Hand were.

Farkas and I headed to the Underforge. As we entered, I saw that Vilkas and Skjor were already beside Kodlak. The Harbinger looked up as we entered, and said, "Ah, good, you're here."

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long," I said curtly, going to take my place beside Skjor, while Farkas took his place next to his brother, until we formed a circle around the blood altar. "So what is this about, Harbinger?"

Kodlak frowned, and I saw that he looked quite troubled. "Last night, friends, I dreamed."

Our interest was piqued. "What about?" asked Vilkas.

Kodlak looked troubled.

"It was very strange. And very daunting, when I glimpsed into what could be the future," he muttered. For a long time, we had known that Kodlak possessed some powers that were nothing to do with being lycanthropic, such as insight, and the ability to see the strengths of people, when they first came into Jorrvaskr seeking to join the Companions. And he had great wisdom; he had guided the Companions for the past twenty years and had not faltered in his duty once.

So tentatively, Farkas, Vilkas, Skjor and I listened.

"I dreamed that I was standing on the borders of Sovngarde," Kodlak began, looking seriously around at us. "Though it was only the border, the land...it was more beautiful than I could have imagined possible. Everything shimmered in starlight. The grass was cool beneath my feet. Great watchful stone sentinels stood on either side, forming a path, leading down into the valley. I found myself walking in that land, and before me were all our predecessors, headed by Ysgramor himself."

"What did he look like?" asked Farkas eagerly.

"I couldn't see; his back was turned. I only recognized him by the mighty Wuuthrad that lay slung over his shoulders," sighed Kodlak. "Great Tsun, the guardian of the Whalebone Bridge, stood and permitted, one by one, for the Harbingers to pass to the inner lands." His eyes hardened. "Until we came to Terrfyg. The Harbinger who first turned us to the ways of the moon and shadow. He tried to enter Sovngarde, but Tsun refused to give him entrance, as he was promised somewhere else."

I frowned. "Shouldn't he have gone to the Hunting Grounds?" I interrupted.

"Let me finish, girl," said Kodlak impatiently. "Tsun cast Terrfyg aside, and as he fell, a great wolf rose up to meet him, dragging him down into the Hunting Grounds, where...where the Father of Manbeasts laughed, and welcomed Terrfyg into the Hunting Grounds with open arms."

His eyes narrowed. "Terrfyg was ashamed, but also eager, to serve Hircine, after a lifetime of service as a beast.

"And then I watched as, one by one, all Terrfyg's successors tried to enter Sovngarde, but Tsun refused to grant them entrance. I watched as each one was dragged by their wolf spirits down into the Hunting Grounds."

Now Kodlak's gaze looked troubled. "And then it came to me."

"What happened? Did you see yourself being pulled into the Hunting Grounds?" asked Skjor.

Kodlak frowned, as though remembering something of great importance, of significant importance. "I had a choice," he said after a while. "I saw Tsun beckoning me. And then I saw the wolf preparing to drag me down into the Hunting Grounds."

For a moment, there was a pause. Then Vilkas said softly, "What does the Dream mean?"

"It means that we do have a choice," said Kodlak, almost angrily. "That Sovngarde is open to us should we choose to enter it."

Vilkas looked furious. "And for all these years, I thought that I was doomed to enter the Hunting Grounds!" he spat.

I stared at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, Vilkas? You know that was where we were meant to go to when we died."

Vilkas frowned at me. "The powers of the wolf coursed through me when I drank the beastblood," he said, "but I'm no hunter. For many years I have had no wish to enter the Hunting Grounds. I am a true Nord at heart. Sovngarde is the only spirit realm where true Nords go."

"You are also pure wolf now," Skjor added, folding his arms. "Your place is to be His Hound at Hircine's side in the afterlife. It is all of our destinies to be at his side."

"No; it is Fated," Kodlak corrected, frowning sternly at Skjor. "And we all know that Fate is inescapable, but changeable. Destiny, you cannot change."

"We cannot change where we go to in the afterlife," I argued, for once disagreeing with Kodlak's words.

"But that was what the Dream meant," Kodlak responded. "We all have a choice where we go to when we die. We have the power to decide our own Fates, and where we go to in death."

Vilkas folded his arms. "But how can we overcome our wolf's spirit, if it betrays us by dragging us to the Hunting Grounds?" he demanded.

"Betrays? It does what it is meant to do," Skjor frowned.

_Where we may hunt for eternity together,_ the wolf muttered in my mind.

I glanced at Farkas, realizing that he was being quiet. "Farkas, what is your opinion on this?" I asked him.

Farkas looked bemused for a moment. "I...I don't know," he said eventually. "Do we...do we have to go to the Hunting Grounds?"

"We have a choice, always," Kodlak said. "And your choices are that you can enter Sovngarde should you desire that plane to be your afterlife when you die. To do so, you must overpower your wolf spirit. This, I believe, is the key to breaking the curse which Terrfyg first threw over us."

I stared at my Harbinger. Curse? He thought the powers of the beastblood a curse? I don't think he could have been more wrong. I exchanged a startled look at Skjor, to see my own bafflement reflected in his eye. Then I turned back to Kodlak.

"It's not a curse, having the powers of the moon at our sides," I frowned. "It's a blessing. A blessing which Hircine few gives to mortals."

I guessed I was the most blessed mortal in the room.

"That may be so," murmured Kodlak. "But remember, Aela; we all have a choice. We always have a choice, when it comes to deciding our Fates." He turned to Skjor. "You, too, Skjor. The Hunting Grounds is not your choice of afterlife if you do not want it to be."

Skjor frowned. "It's our destinies to be at his side, not our Fates."

"Maybe for you," said Vilkas, glaring at his senior. "But true Nords go to Sovngarde."

"And you call me an untrue Nord?" growled Skjor, the shadow of the wolf falling over his face.

"Nobody is calling anyone an untrue Nord," said Kodlak, his voice cutting through the fast-rising argument. "And I did not summon you here so we may fight. I summoned you here to tell you that we do have a choice. That Sovngarde is open to us, should we desire its warmth and its light and the glories it offers."

I said nothing. To me, the glories of Hircine were the only glories I desired. And I felt a chill inside as I realized that Kodlak no longer served our Lord. And to anger a Daedric Prince was most unwise.

Was it bravery or cowardice that was angling my Harbinger towards the mists of Sovngarde than the sunlit meadows of the Hunting Grounds? Perhaps a bit of both. These things, I refused to say aloud, but I was glad that Skjor agreed with me. The Hunting Grounds is the place where we were meant to be, ever since we took the beastblood. We willingly became His Hounds.

And I would willingly take my place at Hircine's side, when my time finally came.

* * *

**A/N: Coming soon! Chapter Thirty-Nine: a new Companion, and what happens on the 17th of Last Seed, 4E201...**

**Leave a review while you wait :)  
**


	40. Chapter 39 - Giant Trouble

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"How dare you call me that!" Athis's voice vibrated in anger.

"You heard me correctly," spat Njada, her eyes full of scorn. "Since when have you delivered honour to the Companions, Elf?"

"The moment I walked through those doors, Nord!"

"And we're supposed to bend down on knee and worship you now, are we?"

_Thuk_.

Njada stumbled away from Athis, one hand shielding her nose. She drew her hand away; it came coated with blood. With eyes black with fury she looked up at Athis, still with fists clenched. "You didn't dare," she hissed.

"I dared." With a scream of fury, Athis leapt onto Njada.

It wasn't very long before the Companions were all gathered around the brawl, chanting, "Fight! Fight!" "Take her down!" "Punch his lights out!"

Well, except for three. Kodlak was downstairs. Skjor and I were sitting in the corner, observing with great amusement.

"Well now, isn't this familiar?" Skjor remarked, glancing at me.

I grinned. Oh, it was just too familiar. I could see Eiwen and Derrick all over again.

"And do you know what?" Skjor pointed to the double doors leading outside. "I'll bet you one bottle of mead that any moment now during this brawl, new blood is going to walk right in and see what a band of ruffians we are."

I shook hands. "Deal."

The cheering grew louder. Even Farkas and Vilkas were enjoying it. Then, a few minutes later, I heard Athis yelp in pain as he was slogged in the face. I sighed wearily and glanced at Skjor. "I think, with you being deputy, it'd be best if you got the fight finished before those two kill each other," I said to him.

Skjor sighed. "Another ten seconds."

"Fine. I'm counting. And you owe me some mead."

"If no-one comes during the ten seconds." Skjor grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "And what are the chances of that happening? Look, I'm counting. Ten...nine...eight..."

The doors opened.

"Oh, I don't believe it," I said.

Skjor burst out laughing at my disbelief. There, standing in the doorway, was a young man who was obviously seeking to join the Companions.

"That's one bottle of mead for me," said Skjor. "And make it Black-Briar, too. Not the local stuff."

"Honningbrew, you mean? You never clarified which kind of mead you wanted. Now, how about this; you go and stop the fight and I go and speak to this new blood."

Skjor agreed. He heaved himself to his feet and strolled over to where the brawl was happening. I headed towards the man. He was staring a little apprehensively at the brawl, and looked up quickly as I approached him.

"Welcome to Jorrvaskr, stranger," I said formally. "Been a while since we've had new bloods. You are seeking to join the Companions, aren't you?"

He nodded. I frowned slightly; it occurred to me that he looked quite young.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen, ma'am."

_Sixteen. Old enough to become a whelp, I suppose._ "And your name?"

"Endain, ma'am."

"Call me 'ma'am' one more time, Endain, and you'll be sorry," I warned him. "Call me Aela the Huntress if you must refer to me when speaking. We don't go heavy on formalities in Jorrvaskr. First lesson for you to learn."

Endain quickly nodded. "Yes, ma—I mean, Aela," he said, blushing beetroot red at using my name.

I rolled my eyes. If this whelp was going to be shy at even speaking to a Companion, a future Shield-Sister, then he was going to have trouble settling in. "Well, come on, then. I'll take you down to our Harbinger. He'll have a look at you and decide if you've got enough mettle to join the Companions."

Endain glanced at the brawl, which was now finished, and Skjor was attempting to have a stern word with Njada and Athis. But I could see amusement glimmering in his eye as he spoke to them. "Do you...usually fight a lot?" he asked quietly.

"Not often," I responded. "Most of the brawls happen between Njada and Athis nowadays. Two hate each other like a sabre cat hates skeevers."

Awkwardly Endain nodded. "I see."

I led him down to the undercroft. "So what's your reason for joining the Companions, boy?"

"Um...well, my family were farmers, ma—Aela," Endain began tentatively. "But I wanted to have adventure in my life. I...I didn't want to spend my life stuck behind a plough or feeding animals. And I knew how to fight. I mean, Pa taught me for a bit. He fought in the Great War, you see, ma—Aela."

So he left home, because he felt he didn't want to spend his life ploughing a field. Something that I had not expected Endain and I to have in common. "Your fighting skills have to be better than average here, Endain, if you want to survive," I said to him firmly. "If you want battle training, you need only ask one of us to help you. And you may have to wait a while for your first contract. You need to prove your strength to us first."

"How?" Endain looked slightly nervous.

"Simple. A member of the Circle tests your arm," I replied, feeling a touch apologetic. If I had known on my first day that I had to prove my strength to a werewolf, I probably would have walked out of Jorrvsakr and kept on walking. But then I had kind of shocked the wits out of everyone in the Circle with the arrows. At _least_ I had proven myself with a lot of mettle. "Don't worry. Our Harbinger will explain," I said to Endain, in an attempt to reassure the jumpy young Nord.

We walked the length of the undercroft and came to Kodlak's quarters. I could see immediately that the door was locked. But I didn't hesitate. I knocked sharply on the door.

For a moment, I heard faint sounds from within, almost like closing and pushing of books. And then the door unlocked and Kodlak opened it.

"We have new blood who wishes to prove himself worthy of becoming a Companion," I explained.

Kodlak opened the doors wider and nodded. "I see. Thank you." He turned to Endain. "I presume that this is the hopeful?"

"Y-yes, sir," stammered Endain. "My name is Endain, sir."

Kodlak frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm...you wish to join the Companions, boy?"

"Yes, sir," replied Endain, with more confidence.

"Very well. Let me take a look at you."

After a brief moment, Kodlak nodded. "Your heart's fire burns brightly," he commented. "But we will see if you are strong enough to make it to the ranks of the Companions." He turned to me. "Aela, please take this new blood upstairs and test his arm."

I nodded. "Yes, Harbinger." For a moment, I had wondered if Kodlak was to let this new whelp in. We had to be extra cautious letting new members join, since Dasha and Patros. But this boy looked too young to be with the Silver Hand.

Even so, as I led Endain back upstairs, I turned to him and asked, "Just out of curiosity, what is your axe made out of?"

"Iron, ma—Aela."

"Another thing. Stop calling me that. Sounds like Ma'Aela. If my name's too hard to say, just call me Huntress."

Embarrassed, Endain nodded.

"Do you have anything made of silver on you?" I inquired.

Endain shook his head, puzzled at the question. "Why, Huntress?"

At least he said the name right. And I was relieved that he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. Maybe he'd make it to becoming a Companion. He seemed decent enough.

I took him out into the yard and told him, "Throw anything you've got at me. Don't worry, I can take it."

Endain awkwardly nodded, taking out his axe.

"Oh, and I mean it. Act like I'm your worst foe." I drew my dagger. "Rules are simple. We fight until one of us gives in, and until a weapon is sheathed. You sheathe yours first and you walk. I sheathe mine first and you're in. So fight like you mean it."

"Okay." Determination hardened Endain's voice. And then he charged.

I spun quickly to the side, kicked out, and easily knocked Endain onto his back. "You need to be faster," I frowned at him, as I waited for him to rise to his feet. Give him a fair chance, I decided. The lad doesn't know what he's up against and he's only sixteen.

Endain picked up his axe. All humility was gone from his face now. He looked at me as if I was his worst enemy. Good. Endain charged. I twisted sharply to the right and threw out my dagger, warding off the blow from the axe, and kicked out again for Endain's leg. But this time, he twisted sharply to the side, avoiding the blow, and using my brief disorientation to his advantage. He came at me, axe already swinging through the air. I narrowly saved myself from being decapitated, and irritation flooded through me; I really was getting sick of people wanting to take my head off. I thrusted my dagger forward, but Endain whirled around to block the blow, and forced my dagger backwards, making me take on step back.

When he charged, I leapt to the side. The axe caught on the shoulder pauldron of my armour, and I winced as an ache ran up my arm. He could deliver strong blows. Good. Endain whipped around, and sliced the axe through the air, aiming for my chest.

Instantly I dropped down and rolled, and was back on my feet before Endain could stop swinging the axe. He turned, expecting me to charge, and watched in astonishment as, making sure I had his full attention, I sheathed my dagger.

"You've got guts, kid," I said to him. _Facing a werewolf_. "You've certainly got mettle. I think you'll make it to becoming a Companion."

Endain looked startled. "R-really, Huntress?"

Ah, yes. Humility was back. Everything was normal again.

"Yes, really," I said. "Now go inside and meet your new Shield-Siblings. I'm sure they'll help you get settled in."

* * *

"Have you heard?"

I looked up at Skjor as he sat down beside me, on that bright latesummer Last Seed morning. "What?"

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak has been captured."

I was surprised. "Really? He's not dead?"

Skjor shrugged. "Not for long. He's going to be executed in Helgen today."

I sighed. "Oh, good. Then this bloody war can come to an end."

It had been going on for months, though it felt like years. And I was still amazed that the Jarl I had once spoken with in Dragonsreach, and taken orders from him in Karthwasten, had the nerves to go to Solitude and kill the High King. There were rumours that he had killed Torygg using the legendary powers of the Voice.

_To think that the weapon the Greybeards taught him was used for murder,_ I thought with disbelief. And since High King Torygg's death, Ulfric had become both infamous and heroic. Many believed that he was to be the High King of Skyrim. Those loyalists were called after Ulfric's last name, and were known as Stormcloaks. Others wanted him dead, such as the Empire. The General, some Imperial hothead called Tullius, had made it his personal duty to hunt Ulfric down.

And amidst the chaos, grief had come as Olava predicted long ago to the Gray-Mane family; their son, Thorald, had suddenly vanished.

It was obvious that the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns were now sworn enemies. They had great dislikes for one another since the ending of the Great War. Now that dislike had intensified to hatred, and both had taken sides in the war because of it. The Gray-Manes were large supporters of Ulfric Stormcloak, their hatred for the Thalmor and their belief in Ulfric's claim finally breaking through. The Battle-Borns supported the Empire, and many times Olfrid, the patron of the Battle-Born clan, headed up to Dragonsreach to try and persuade Jarl Balgruuf to allow Imperial Legionnaires to be stationed permanently in the city. Always, Balgruuf had refused, maintaining a shaky neutral relationship between the Empire and the Stormcloak Rebellion.

_I see a great forge. The wings of a bird are its embrace. A great man works the fires of the forge of the sky. His heart is hollow with grief. Blood stains the land he once knew, the blood not of Elves but of Nords. Two sides, a restless current, tugging at each other, always tugging, bringing with it the scents of blood and war. The waters of war lap against the hills of Whiterun but cannot overcome the walls that surround._

Olava had foretold correctly. Of course none of us had understood. And none of us really understood the next part, either, but at least it was something of hope to Eorlund, who was mortified that his son had been lost to him.

_His son, his oldest, lost and unfound, lost to those who believe themselves the rightful rulers of Tamriel. But there is hope! Yes, there is hope. The lost Gray-Mane shall be found, and he shall return to the tides...the steel will come swifter than before, as the hawk flies, and the bear awakens and faces the wolf._

I suspected the Thalmor. Damned Elves were little more than dominators in Skyrim now, maintaining an embassy in the mountains near Solitude. The Gray-Manes suspected the Battle-Borns had something to do with Thorald's disappearance, however. And the last part, the bear awakens and faces the wolf, for a long time since I had become a werewolf I thought that part had something to do with the Circle.

But no; the symbol of Solitude was the wolf. It had been since Queen Potema's rule. And the symbol of Windhelm was a bear. And Ulfric had awakened, and faced the wolf, the High King, and Shouted him to Sovngarde. And the war had begun.

And now it ended. Many months later, through much bloodshed, it was finally going to end today.

"Whereabouts?" I asked Skjor.

"Helgen, I think," replied Skjor. "That's what the Battle-Borns say anyway. Beats me how they know, though. But soon Skyrim will be at peace again. And then we can all get back to our lives without having to steer clear of Stormcloaks and Legionnaires. I think Balgruuf is—"

A screeching, rolling cry interrupted the rest of his words.

I stood up abruptly at the sound. It sounded...unworldly. That was all I could think of to describe the unusual sound which suddenly echoed from the mountains around Throat of the World.

Skjor frowned. "What in Nirn was that?"

We headed into the centre of the courtyard. The sound had vanished, as quickly as it had come. Perhaps roused by the unusual noise, other Companions came out of Jorrvaskr, puzzled by the sound that obviously had entered the hall.

A few minutes later, the screaming roar came again. It was louder, stronger than before. It sent shudders down my spine, and Skjor looked just as uncomfortable.

"Whatever's making that sound, it had better stop," he muttered. "Because I don't think that's natural at all."

I shook my head. "Definitely unnatural. I haven't heard that sound before."

We waited for several minutes, as though expecting to hear it again. But we didn't.

"Strange," muttered Skjor. "Really strange."

I glanced at Skjor. "Was it just me, or did I sense that those screaming cries were near Helgen?"

Skjor looked alarmed. "You don't think...?"

"Well, he'd have to try and escape, wouldn't he?" I argued. "But I'm not sure what the Thu'um sounds like. In any case, I'm pretty sure something's happening in Helgen. And it's not natural."

Skjor shrugged. "Whatever it is, sounds like it's gone now...or silenced. You think he's...?"

"Probably." I didn't really want to think about decapitation. Wanting to shake off the last of the eerie wailing, I said, "Come on, let's go and see what's going on in Whiterun. Maybe some of the locals have an answer."

We headed around Jorrvaskr and saw that already most of the townspeople had paused in their day-to-day activities, wondering aloud what the strange noises had been. Even the guards were confused. I was unable to see their eyes beneath their helmets but there was no need; they displayed their confusion forthrightly. And I noticed another thing; Irileth, usually inseparable from Jarl Balgruuf's side, was standing near the Gildergreen, frowning.

"How are you doing?" I asked her, as we neared her.

Irileth glanced at us. "So you heard it as well?"

"You think we couldn't hear it?" said Skjor lightly, though his eye was earnest. "Strange, isn't it? Any idea what it is?"

Irileth frowned. "It doesn't sound like a creature from Morrowind. No animal could make that sound." She paused. "Animal _or_ man," she decided.

I glanced at her. "So you don't think it was Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Definitely not." Irileth folded her arms. "No mortal could make that sound. It's probably some strange creature. Or some kind of ritual necromantic spell. Whatever it is, it's gone now."

"I suppose," I agreed reluctantly. "Why are you down here anyway, Irileth?"

"My Jarl asked me to investigate what the noises were," said Irileth promptly. "Even his curiosity was aroused. I don't intend on returning to Dragonsreach until I find out what it is."

Skjor nodded. "I see. And where do you intend to begin searching?"

"Around the city first. Some of these locals may have an answer." Irileth glanced at me and Skjor. "Why? Were you hoping to join with me?"

"Not at all; merely curious for old times' sakes," Skjor replied. "You know, you can be just as sharp as your brother sometimes."

"It's my duty to be sharp," frowned Irileth. "Too many want Balgruuf dead. Assassins, I mean. And with this war going on, many may take advantage of Whiterun."

"They'd have to get through us first," I said firmly. "But the war's soon to end. The traitor-Jarl might even be dead by now."

Before Irileth could respond, screams suddenly rent the air all around us, and the stench of terror scorched me on all sides. I looked around, expecting to suddenly find the Stormcloaks attacking Whiterun. Then Irileth let out a bloodcurdling yell and pointed up towards the Barrow, and I felt my blood run cold, and my throat close up in horror.

It was a dragon. It _had_ to be a dragon. What else could it be?

It soared over the distant Bleak Falls Barrow, and from its mouth, I suddenly heard an echoing roar, and I realized it was the same sounds we had all been hearing in the mountains around Helgen. People were shouting in terror, trying to get indoors, guards trying in vain to restore order. The dragon was flying straight towards Whiterun.

In a flash I had taken down my bow, and thrown an arrow to it, but already the dragon was above us. It flew with the most terrifying speed. It let out another roar, but it was darker, deeper, more menacing, and fear shot through me as suddenly its head jerked down. Two pairs of blazing blood-red eyes focused upon me, and I felt my body grow rigid from the shock of staring into the face of what I could only describe as death. My arrow slipped from my fingers.

Why wasn't it attacking? It could destroy the entire of Whiterun.

And then it winged its way high over Dragonsreach. As its huge black wings passed over the sun, shadow fell over the city, and I swear it was the coldest thing I had ever felt. It was as if icy hands were clenching around my beating heart. And then the dragon was gone, disappearing over the horizon, vanishing from view.

The terror remained. But nobody spoke, until finally the guardsmen were able to restore order, moving the crowds, heading swiftly to the walls, exclaiming in sheer disbelief what they had seen.

"By the Gods...I need to tell the Jarl immediately..." Irileth turned and sprinted up the stone steps to the palace.

Skjor and I just stared at each other in blank shock. We didn't even know what to say. It was too hard to believe.

"We need to tell Kodlak," I said eventually. Skjor nodded, and he and I began heading up to Jorrvaskr.

Then suddenly we heard footsteps just behind us and turned around.

"You're with the Companions, right?" the guard said, his voice slightly exhilarated. "There's trouble down in Pelagia farm. I think a giant's attacking it."

I was still shocked at seeing the dragon fly over the city. At staring into its blood-red eyes. But I managed to shake off the shock long enough for me to understand what the guardsman had said. And what was happening in Pelagia farm.

"We can't spare any guardsmen; that dragon could come back." Fear laced the guard's voice for a moment. "And we may not stand a chance against a giant, anyway."

"Don't worry, we'll take care of it." I turned quickly to Skjor. "You go and tell Kodlak. Get..." I said the first two names that came to mind. "...Farkas and Ria out here. They'll help me take down the giant in the farm."

Skjor stared at me. "You think that'll be enough people? I can come as well, if you need me."

"I don't think we do. You need to tell Kodlak about...whatever that was. And I'll take care of the giant."

Skjor frowned. "If the giant doesn't take care of you first."

Ah, yes. I had heard of the slightly ludicrous way giants enjoyed disposing of people. I was yet to see it happen, though. "Trust me, I'll be fine," I said firmly to Skjor. "And I swear that if the giant manages to even get Farkas off the ground an inch I'll raise a mug to it in Jorrvaskr tonight."

For a moment, Skjor and I held our gazes. And then he clapped a hand to my shoulder.

"Hunt well," was all he said. And then he hurried up the steps to Jorrvaskr.

* * *

Well, I was partially regretting this.

The giant was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than I had intended it to be. I had filled it with arrows but it was still standing. Ria nearly got crushed several times. Farkas was knocked off his feet but fortunately not slammed thousands of metres up into the air, and he had a pretty bloody gash on his face.

But we still fought, determinedly. I kept trying to get a clear shot at the giant's head, but it was difficult, because at the same time I was trying to avoid an eight-foot-long club that would certainly shatter my bones if I stood in its path long enough. Ria and Farkas systematically hacked at the giant's legs.

"Go down, you big ugly brute!" Ria shouted, swinging her sword around as hard as she could. The giant grunted as the sword tore open a wound in its thick greyish skin, looked blankly down towards Ria, and raised its club.

Immediately Farkas ran over and pushed her aside just as the club smashed down onto the ground, drowning everyone in a cloud of dust. With an angry bellow, the giant whipped around as I loosed another arrow into its chest. Surely it was weakened? Weakening, at the very least. It had to be weakening.

I was tempted. The wolf roared. But I couldn't. Not with too many witnesses. I supposed that the guardsmen could still see what was happening from their place on the wall. Waiting to see the giant killed.

A club whirled across my vision.

_Shit!_

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground some forty or so metres away from the giant with half my body aching like crazy. With a soft groan, I pushed myself to my feet, relieved when I felt that nothing was broken. How much did it take to kill this thing? Still dazed, my eyes sought out my bow, and quickly I picked it up and began running back down towards the giant.

Quickly I drew an arrow and loosed it in an instant, desiring nothing more for that giant's life to be ended. But either that giant's skin was too thick or else I really mistimed the loosing of the arrow, because as the arrow sped towards its throat its huge arm suddenly reared up, and the arrow embedded itself in its shoulder.

The giant let out a grunt of surprise, lowering its weapon to look at the arrow curiously. And then its dark eyes fell on me and it bellowed with fury. I drew another arrow and aimed, but then the giant, as though suspecting something, moved its hand up to protect its eyes and throat. My arrow embedded itself in the back of its hand, and it roared.

"Keep it going, we're weakening it!" I shouted to the Companions. Farkas rushed forward, sinking his greatsword with all his might against the giant's leg. He let out a roar of savage satisfaction as blood suddenly gushed from the wound. The giant whirled around, feeling the pain, and quickly Farkas scrambled backwards, but too late; I watched in horror as the club swung around, and slammed into Farkas's side. There was the sound of crunching metal. He was flung across the ground, landing heavily with a grunt of pain.

_Shit, shit, shit,_ I swore over and over in my head, as I fired another arrow towards its skull. Again, it missed my desired mark, as the giant swung around suddenly and the arrow thudded into its club instead. The giant let out a bellow and began to lumber towards me. Ria slashed with her sword against the giant's calf as it lumbered past her, and it suddenly, unexpectedly, whipped around, the club swinging through the air. Ria leapt backwards, raising her shield, and then there was the sound of splintering wood as the shield shattered and Ria was knocked onto her back. Grunting in satisfaction, the giant loomed over her and raised its foot, ready to crush her.

"NO!" I screamed, pulling another arrow back and releasing it.

And my two arrows met their mark in the giant's back.

Wait a moment...I had fired only one, right? I looked over my shoulder to see who had fired the other one –

– to see a Nord woman suddenly leap into the fray, letting out a scream of fury, one hand already flying to the quiver on her back. She jerked the arrow back savagely, and as the confused giant spun around, she released the arrow, and it sank deep into the giant's chest.

It let out a bellow of pain and staggered backwards, and the stranger took a few daring steps forward, pulling out another arrow as she did so, and swiftly, seamlessly, knocked it to the bowstring. As she released it, it sank into the giant's shoulder, and it snorted in fury. It charged, club raised high.

I loosed my own arrow towards the giant, halting it in its tracks, giving the stranger enough time to leap to safety before the club swung abruptly down, hard into the ground. When the dust cleared, the giant was looming right over the stranger, and the club swung high as she drew back the bowstring, arrow readied.

Shit. She was going to get herself killed. What was she thinking?

The strange Nord woman threw herself backwards as she loosed her arrow. The club swung down, striking her hard in the shoulder, and she yelled with pain as she landed hard on her back. Her arrow struck home, very close to the giant's throat. It grunted in pain and fell back, its free hand rubbing uncomfortably against the arrow in its neck. I loosed another arrow into its chest, and the giant forgot its pain and turned its gaze towards me instead.

Despite the danger I was suddenly in, I threw a glance at the Nord woman, expecting her to be dead – and instead saw her pushing herself determinedly to her feet, rage blazing evidently in her eyes. She yanked out another arrow and pulled it back as though the blow to her shoulder had hardly mattered, and as the giant turned around at her furious shout, she loosed the arrow, and it struck the giant's leg. It stumbled backwards a bit, but its gaze was fixed upon her, and it raised its club, ready to bring it crashing down onto her.

"I did not escape death in Helgen to be put down by a bloody giant!" the woman screamed, throwing herself to the side, as the club crashed down onto the earth. In a flash she was on her feet again, and with more speed than I could have believed possible, she had drawn back another arrow and loosed it. Straight into the giant's skull.

It stiffened, and then a moan escaped its body as it slumped and thudded onto the ground with an earthshaking crash.

The woman sheathed her bow, looking satisfied. I slung my own bow over my back and approached her in complete bewilderment, though naturally I kept it well hidden.

The woman looked up at me, and I got a good look at her for the first time. She was slender, and had hazel-brown hair that fell around a gaunt, drawn face. Dark shadows surrounded her eyes, which were leaf-green, as though she had not slept for a long time. A wound to her forehead was still oozing a small amount of blood, and there were burns on her arms and legs.

I also noted that she was wearing Stormcloak armour.

"You fight pretty well," I commented.

The woman nodded. "Thanks."

And then my mind flashed back to what she had said earlier, and I said, "Did you say that you came from Helgen before?"

"Yeah." The woman smiled grimly. "Not many made it out alive."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you heard yet?" The woman gave a hollow laugh. "Helgen's completely destroyed. A dragon came and burned the place to the ground."

A chill descended over my body. "Earlier we saw a dragon fly over the city. And we heard noises even before that..."

"Same dragon, I guess," said the woman. Ruefully she gestured her burns. "It was the wildest day of my life, I can tell you that."

"Helgen's completely destroyed?" The woman turned around as Farkas and Ria slowly came over, their eyes flashing both respect and horror. Farkas's voice sounded as disbelieving as my thoughts were.

"And by a dragon? That same one that flew over the city?" Terror edged Ria's voice.

"That'll be the one."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Farkas.

"I had a _great_ view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head," said the woman sarcastically. "I even got some firsthand experience what dragonfire does to anyone who's unfortunate enough to get in the way of a jet of it."

I frowned at the woman. "So you were at Helgen, meant for death."

"Oh, yes," said the woman, turning back to me. "And the funny thing is that I didn't even do a goddamned thing, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You're a loyalist of Ulfric," said Ria, puzzled.

"This armour isn't mine," replied the stranger tartly. "I wasn't a Stormcloak. And yet I was the second to be sent to the block by some hard-mouth Imperial captain." Her voice was bitter. "The headsman was just raising his axe when the dragon appeared."

"The second? Who was the first?" I asked.

"Some Stormcloak who insulted a priestess of Arkay when she said the 'Eight Divines'," replied the woman.

I frowned quizzically. "Not Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"No."

"How did _you_ escape?"

The woman frowned. "The dragon. Made everyone terrified and forget about what they were trying to do, kill as many Stormcloaks as they could. Blasted me right off the headsman's block. A Stormcloak soldier saved my life. We escaped together; ran through the keep before it fell down around us, killing Imperials along the way. Got out, just in time to see that dragon flying overhead northward. Funny; I swear it was in particular trying to kill me. I barely made it out alive."

"Well, I know that you saved my life," said Ria, gratefully. "What's your name?"

The woman hesitated. "You're an Imperial, aren't you?"

"I am," Ria relied levelly. "But I don't take part in the war. I'm with the Companions."

That seemed to satisfy the stranger. "Alyssa," she said. "My name's Alyssa."

Ria was puzzled. "That's not a Nord name, is it?"

"I was raised in Cyrodiil," Alyssa explained. She bitterly laughed. "I'm not going to think the same about the Empire ever again. Nothing pisses me off more than being accused of something I haven't done."

_I know the feeling,_ I thought ruefully. "You're a pretty good fighter," I said to Alyssa. "And not many survive a dragon attack. Where are you headed?"

"Riften," replied Alyssa. "The place holds good memories for me. I'm going to see if I can get a job there."

"You could get a job here," Farkas pointed out. "The Companions are always looking for new members."

Alyssa paused thoughtfully. "I'll keep it in mind," she said eventually.

"Well, if you do change your mind, just head up to Jorrvaskr," I said. "Ask to see Kodlak Whitemane. He's our leader; strong, wise, respected. He can look into your eyes and tell your worth, the moment he looks at you. He's never been wrong."

He hadn't been wrong. He had seen that Dasha and Patros were strong. But he hadn't looked far enough into them to discover where their loyalties lay.

Alyssa nodded. "Thanks. I'm only heading to Whiterun so I can get the first carriage to Riften."

"If you really are heading into the city, be on the lookout for the Thieves Guild," Farkas said. "They live in the sewers beneath the city. And they'll rob you blind before you know it."

Alyssa frowned. "I highly doubt that. Being born under the sign of the Thief, I'm a lot more sensitive to things that try to filch my wealth from my pockets."

She knelt down beside the giant, and yanked out her arrows from the giant's corpse putting them back into her quiver, and then stood up. "Meanwhile I just want to get as far away from that damned town as I can. Too many bad memories. And that dragon's stuck in my mind."

"I think it's stuck in everyone's minds," said Ria. "Good luck, anyway, going to Riften. Be sure to remember us if you're short of coin."

"Thanks," said Alyssa. "I will."

We watched her head towards the road, and privately I wished her luck with the cart driver, who could be just as racist as the old one.

* * *

**A/N: I think we all know who Alyssa is.**

**She doesn't actually go to Dragonsreach and speak with the Jarl of Whiterun until almost one year later. And yes! Finally she's in the story, though she won't be appearing continually until after the very last chapter of Part Four. That's when she joins the Companions. Please review!  
**


	41. Chapter 40 - The Dragon

**A/N: And here it is, guys! Sorry that it didn't come out quicker than before, but it's out now! Set one year after the events in Helgen, and before anyone asks, no, Aela does not know about Lokir's death, or that Alyssa is you-know-who, and the rest of it. But time for me to shut up, and for the rest of you to read (and review?) the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter Forty

"This is just growing ridiculous."

The Jarl glowered at us from his place in the throne, and I had to stop myself rolling my eyes at him. It was undoubted why we were here (again) in Dragonsreach. I glanced at my Harbinger and at Skjor, who stood on either side of me. Kodlak had a look of intense patience upon his weathered face.

"The Thieves Guild again, my Jarl?" asked Kodlak, forcing all exasperation from his voice.

"Of course," scowled Jarl Balgruuf. "The damned thieves are growing too reckless. They're meant to be a failing organization but within this one year alone they've returned with great intensity to all the Holds, and now they have as much influence over Whiterun as they do in Riften. I want you to go and flush them out."

I frowned at the Jarl. "With all due respect, Balgruuf, we are not common sellswords. The Thieves Guild, infamous as it is, is an organization. I highly doubt that 'flushing them out' would be so easy."

"Strange, those words coming from you," Jarl Balgruuf said, almost scathingly, turning his gaze to me. "I had expected you to take to the challenge, being a huntress and all."

"Pissing off the Thieves Guild is about as safe as pissing off the Dark Brotherhood," Skjor argued. "I think Aela's right that we don't meddle in the affairs of the Guild. It's not because we're afraid to take the fight; it's because of what the aftermath could be if we anger them."

"And the Guild is well-hidden, concealed; it would be dangerous to even attempt to search for it," said Kodlak. "We know that they have suddenly returned prominently to Skyrim, and now everyone fears to mention their names once again."

That was unsurprising. Whiterun had been struck pretty hard with the Thieves Guild. It was thought that the Guild had a hand in the closing of Honningbrew Meadery, and particularly with the burning of the beehives and the robbery in Goldenglow Estate. And then the people had started to complain not only to the Jarl, but to Kodlak as well, about various items being stolen, important treasures gone missing. Balgruuf had, of course, grown angrier and angrier with the Guild, until now, for about the fourth time, my Harbinger had been summoned to the court, and Skjor and I had gone with him, being senior members of the Circle, to provide our Harbinger with support through this frustrating time.

Jarl Balgruuf frowned. "So, Harbinger, advise me how I should protect my people against the Guild, if the Companions are unwilling to get themselves caught up in the thieves' affairs."

"Double your vigilance with the guardsmen, and put faith in your men to be on the lookout for the thieves," said Kodlak. "You know that we protect Whiterun's citizens. We do all we can to look after the Hold. And we will be on the lookout for anyone conspirating with the Guild of thieves, I assure you, Jarl."

Balgruuf looked unsatisfied for a fraction of a moment, and then he nodded. "I suppose that is all anyone can do for now." He turned to his Housecarl. "Irileth, double the guard around Whiterun at night. That is the time when thieves would strike."

Irileth nodded. "Of course, my Jarl."

"Oh, and Huntress..." the Jarl called me back as Kodlak, Skjor and I turned to leave. Looking back at Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, now once again slouching a little lazily on his elaborately-carved throne, he looked at me steadily and said, "If you find any tracks, any markings, to do with these thieves, I give you permission to follow them. And, if necessary, to kill whoever has left them."

I paused for a moment, and then nodded, wondering exactly what freedom this would bring me. "I'll do my best, Jarl, but I make no promises. The Thieves Guild are elusive."

_And so are the Silver Hand,_ I thought as I left Dragonsreach. _Fourteen years since Panjor tried to kill me and not a whisper of any locations._

As far as I was concerned, the Thieves Guild rested at the back of my mind. I was only looking out for one set of man-made tracks; of those who wouldn't hesitate to kill me.

As we left Dragonsreach and began to head back to Jorrvaskr, my Harbinger turned to me and Skjor. "I have another contract for you," said Kodlak, almost wearily. "But it can wait for now. The rest of the day is yours to spend, and you may leave for your task in the morning."

I looked up at the sky. Midday. Half a day of freedom before journeying Gods-knows-where to a contract's location. "Where are we headed?" I asked.

"Winterhold. A cavern of frost trolls needs to be cleared out from where they've settled near the town," Kodlak replied. He turned and headed back to Jorrvaskr.

I glanced at Skjor. "The pair of us, off hunting again...isn't that familiar?"

"Quite so," agreed Skjor, with a smile. "And it'll be a relief to get away from this city for a bit. I'm getting quite sick of all these complaints from the townspeople and the Jarl himself about the bloody Thieves Guild."

"As am—" I broke off abruptly as I abruptly swerved to the side to avoid someone who was coming up the steps. "Sorry," I apologized to the woman.

She nodded abruptly. I hesitated, looking at her, but her face was concealed beneath a brown hood, and she wore hard leather armour clad over her body. I watched as she turned and headed up towards Dragonsreach.

"Hey, are you coming?" Skjor called, from the foot of the stairs.

I turned back. "Yeah, yeah, keep your tongue in, I'm coming." I headed back down the rest of the staircase until I was walking beside Skjor again. "So where do you want to head? We've got the whole afternoon to ourselves."

"You know—" Skjor headed over to the bench that faced the candlelit statue of Talos and sat down heavily on it, leaning back against the dead Gildergreen and closing his eyes. "—I think I just want to sit down and relax for a moment."

"You, relaxing? Are all your tireless years of killing things finally catching up to you?" I asked teasingly, sitting down beside him.

Skjor cracked a grin, though he didn't open his eyes. "I've still got many long miles to run yet, Aela," he said. "But we've been warriors for a long time; fighting does leave scars."

"Of course. If you're stupid enough to stand in the way of the weapons to receive them."

I lifted my arm slightly, and though it had been so many years since I had been attacked by the wolves, I could still see the scars, bright white against my skin. The small, jagged, lumpy gashes, forever marring the skin, never to fade. Oh, I had received plenty of other scars from various fights with bandits and wounds that never healed properly from animals, but the scars from the wolves would always be of some significance to me.

Panjor had saved my life then. My thoughts went back to him, to my old mentor. The shock of his betrayal to me still left me stunned, even after fourteen years. Fourteen long, exhausting years, where I dreamed tortured about him and his confession to me outside Fellglow Keep before having me and Samiith executed. I tried not to sleep too often but sometimes, exhaustion would creep up on me and I was forced to close my eyes and rest for an hour or two. And in those hours, I always dreamed of Panjor. Sometimes, the dreams were good. I would dream of my old mentor praising me for a kill, or one of our old but well-remembered arguments with one another, or when he would present me with a gift that had meant so much to me; my first bow and arrows, my armour, my skinning knife, a pouch of gold from a particularly fine kill, the three streaks of evergreen warpaint that had marked me as a huntress...

I sighed softly.

Skjor glanced at me. "You okay?"

"Fine," I muttered.

Maybe he sensed my unhappiness. He leaned over to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder in a somewhat comforting manner. "Remember our promise to them," he murmured. "We hunt together, and forever."

My words repeated the pact we had forged long ago. "Until death break us, and reunite us."

For me, those words were almost like prophecy. The hidden pact which Skjor and I held, which bound our desires to avenge the deaths of our fallen Companions, those who had died to the Silver Hand, and for Ornith, left permanently scarred and damaged mentally when he first encountered the Silver Hand, watched them kill Taija, all those years ago.

"...The very idea is inconceivable to our Elven overlords! Sharing the heavens with us? With man? Ha! They can barely tolerate our presence on earth! Today, they take away your faith. But what of tomorrow? What then? Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very lives?..."

I glanced absently towards the preacher, Heimskr, who spent about fifteen hours a day preaching about Talos the Mighty in front of the statue to the city. "You know," I said quietly, "I think that we need to clarify the difference when people say 'Elves' and when they mean 'Thalmor'."

Skjor nodded. "Eiwen was nothing like the Thalmor. She hated them."

"If the Empire ever catches that old loon praising Talos so openly in the city then there's going to be a lot of trouble for Heimskr," I muttered. "The Battle-Borns aren't exactly happy with Heimskr for supporting the Stormcloaks."

"Bah; he only mentions them once. See, here he goes now with them."

"So rise up! Rise up, children of the Empire! Rise up, Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man...and Divine!" Heimskr cried with great passion, almost wringing his hands to prove his point, even though only me, Skjor, and a passing Whiterun guard were vaguely listening to him.

"And that'll be four years' prison sentence should the Thalmor be in the city here and now," Skjor muttered darkly under his breath.

I was about to reply when I suddenly heard footsteps nearby. Absently I glanced over my shoulder to see a woman, clad in strange black leathers, heading towards the stone steps to Dragonsreach. I frowned, slightly. There seemed to be something familiar about her...

The woman paused, hearing Heimskr's cries, and glanced over her shoulder. Her hazel-brown hair fell around a green-eyed face, a face with high cheekbones and sharply-outlined features. And then I remembered.

I stood up, in astonishment. "Alyssa? Is that you?"

The woman glanced quickly towards me, and recognition flashed for a moment in her leaf-green gaze. "Been a while, hasn't it?" she commented, coming over.

I nodded. "Nearly a year to this day."

"Who's this?" asked Skjor, frowning.

"Her name's Alyssa," I said to him, glancing over my shoulder. "She helped me, Farkas and Ria fight that giant that was troubling Pelagia farm last year. Actually, she saved Ria's life."

Alyssa frowned slightly. "I had just watched people die in Helgen. I wasn't about to see another creature take down another innocent life."

Skjor was surprised. "You were in Helgen?"

"Oh, yes. One of the prisoners, scheduled for execution there." Alyssa gave a rueful smile. "But I think the General realized that I perhaps wasn't with the Stormcloaks. I just crossed the borders at the wrong time."

Skjor looked closely at her. "If you can take down a giant, you're probably stronger than most of our whelps in Jorrvaskr. Considered joining?"

Alyssa shrugged. "Actually, I'm kinda busy at the moment."

She half-held up some ancient stone tablet. "I've actually just returned from Bleak Falls Barrow, on a quest for Farengar."

"The Barrow?" I was startled. Even Kodlak was hesitant in sending anyone near the Barrow. There was a large gathering of bandits up there all the time...and worse. "You went in there?"

Alyssa nodded. "I didn't exactly have a choice. Well, Farengar'll be happy with his Dragonstone. More happy to see me alive, after facing about half a hundred Draugr in that accursed ruin...not to mention the spider..."

"Spider, huh?" My mind flashed back to Steepfall Deep. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't keep you, if the court wizard's expecting you."

"Thanks. Nice bumping into you again." Alyssa turned and headed up to Dragonsreach.

I went and sat down beside Skjor again. "Strange," I commented. "How she doesn't jump at the chance of joining the Companions. We never _ask_ people to join. Wonder what she does."

"By the looks of it, she's a sellsword," shrugged Skjor. He stood up. "Well, I've had enough lounging about and chatting absently. Let's go and see what Fralia's offering us in the marketplace."

"Probably overpriced pieces of jewelry again," I guessed, but stood up anyway and went with Skjor down to the Plains District.

As we did, a running guard suddenly sprinted into the market place and up the stairs, nearly knocking us down in his sheer terror; I could smell the overpowering stench of fear radiating from him, and stared after him in astonishment.

"A guard, afraid?" I asked Skjor.

He shrugged. "Odd. Usually people are afraid of the guards."

And then we heard the sounds. Echoing, rolling, haunting. Everyone stopped in their activities, chatter dying, birdsong faltering into nothingness, until for a moment, nothing could be heard except for the distant crackle of flames in the braziers around the city.

And then we heard it again. Louder, vibrating with anger. And the people began to grow afraid.

"I don't want to think what I'm thinking," Skjor muttered in complete disbelief. "It's been a year..." he fell silent.

I turned abruptly. "We need to try and see it."

Skjor quickly hurried after me as I raced up the steps back to Jorrvaskr. "Where exactly are you intending to stand to try and see the damned thing?"

Another roar rumbled across the Hold. It sounded very close. I bounded up the steps to Jorrvaskr to see that all the Companions were outside. Even Kodlak.

"By the Gods...what's making that sound?" Vilkas whispered.

"If it's what I think it is, you probably won't believe me." I headed past Vilkas, going up to the highest point which I knew; the Skyforge. Skjor quickly hurried after me, until we came to the large stone platform in the shadow of the stone bird's embrace. Eorlund had stopped working, listening to the sounds in near amazement.

"It sounds like that...whatever was making those horrible sounds last year," he muttered, stunned.

"Worse; it's closer." I stood at the edge of the platform, where I could look over the houses and the walls, looking eastward –

To witness a huge burst of light from the place of the western watchtower. I didn't need the smoke that followed to know it was fire.

"Shit," breathed Skjor, seeing the blast and the smoke. And we heard the scream again, louder and angrier, and then watched a distant shape that would be nonetheless big suddenly take to the air, wings whirling, and glide towards Bleak Falls Barrow.

"I think we know what it is," I muttered in stunned disbelief. What was happening to this world? The dragons were meant to be dead, killed off long ago...

And then in the next moment, I heard the doors to Dragonsreach bang open. I sharply looked towards where Irileth and Alyssa came running out. Even though they were still some way away, I could see the fear and determination glittering in the crimson and green eyes.

"Don't tell me they're going to fight that damned beast," breathed Skjor, noticing them as well. They raced down the steps that led to the Wind District, heading around the Gildergreen and towards the city gates.

"Looks like it," I muttered in response. I couldn't blame Alyssa for looking afraid; one year ago a dragon had nearly killed her. What if it was the same one? It was too haunting to have a past catch up with you; I had firsthand experience with that.

"The beast's gone, though; we saw it fly towards the Barrow," said Skjor, almost quizzically. "They're not going to march all the way up to Bleak Falls Barrow to fight a _dragon_, are they?"

"A dragon, huh?" Eorlund Gray-Mane narrowed his eyes. "Hmph. This world really is changing."

_Well, all I can think for them is good luck,_ I thought. I felt a shiver of fear, the smallest trace of it, pass through me when I thought of a full-grown dragon, much like the one that had passed over last year, how its black wings had shadowed the whole of Whiterun and the red eyes had flashed down, and bored into my own.

For a little while, we heard nothing. And then, I saw a dark shadow suddenly detach itself from the Barrow and streak back down towards the watchtower. A rumbling scream shot through the air, thrumming in our eardrums, and made the wolf within me growl in anger, as though in response to a challenge. And from our point at the Skyforge, Skjor and I could see faint flashes of orange light, as though great bursts of dragonfire were heating up the fight.

_The guards, Irileth and Alyssa wouldn't stand a chance,_ I thought ruefully. I knew that soon enough, any moment, that dragon was going to leave behind the watchtower, leaving nothing but a mass of charred corpses.

Perhaps Skjor was wondering the same thing. "Nobody could survive that," he said.

I thought back to how I had first seen Alyssa; bloodied, burned, but alive, escaped from Helgen as it was destroyed by that horrific black dragon. "One did," I murmured, half to myself. "Maybe she'll be able to put it down."

Skjor snorted. "No ordinary man or woman could put a creature like that down."

Almost the moment he said those words, a long, drawn out shriek suddenly ripped through the air; a shriek that was filled with fear and pain and dark realization, as though it had encountered an ancient foe who had lain dormant for all these years, but had returned and brought it down.

And then there was silence.

After a while, Eorlund muttered, "Is it...is it dead?"

"It sounded like a death cry," I replied, having heard plenty of the sort from the countless animals I had hunted, and the creatures and people I had killed.

Excitement flashed for a moment in Skjor's eyes. "So you think it's dead?"

I nodded. "Sounds dead."

"Then the small army of Whiterun managed to slay it!" Eorlund sounded pleased. "Well, with the threat over, I think I'll get back to my forging." He turned and stumped back off to the forge to relight the dwindling embers.

Skjor and I headed back down to Jorrvaskr.

But that wasn't the last exciting thing that suddenly happened today – even though a lot of things _had_ happened today, it seemed the Divines couldn't help but put one more element of disbelief into it. At least for me.

Skjor and I had nearly reached the double doors leading inside when suddenly the sky tore open. The world shook; both Skjor and I nearly lost our balance. I grasped a table for support; Skjor ran into a pillaring and grabbed it to steady himself. For a moment, the world shook around us, nothing but a thundering sound smashing through the air.

And then we clearly heard the cry, ringing with raw power.

"DO-VAH-KIIN!"

And as quickly as it had come, it was silent once more.

Slowly, not quite daring to believe it, I let go of the table and straightened up. Skjor released the pillaring. Both he and I walked slowly into the training yard, and moments later we weren't alone; all of the Companions were suddenly around us, staring up at the sky, searching and whispering in awe amongst themselves what had just happened.

"Where did it come from?" asked Farkas quietly.

_Where _did_ it come from?_ I thought.

And my gaze, roving the skies, suddenly fell against the shadow of the towering mountain, outlined clearly in the afternoon sunlight. To the tiny smudge of what we could see of the ancient monastery upon the sleep, snow-crusted slopes.

High Hrothgar. Home of the Greybeards. Masters of the Way of the Voice.

And then it hit me. It hit all of the Nords here, who had grown up hearing about Nord traditions. Ria and Athis were the only ones who were confused, forgetting their prominent hostility for one another in their confusion and slight fear.

"The Greybeards!" breathed Vilkas in awe.

"They were...they were speaking, Shouting, out beyond the mountain, around all of Tamriel!" Skjor's eye was round with disbelief.

Njada stared at the mountain. "It happened once, long ago," she whispered.

I glanced at her. "What are you talking about?"

Yes, we understood the Greybeards part. They were thought to be masters of the Voice, the ability to Shout raw force and unleashed power, though they were reclusive, never venturing from the monastery, atop the peaks of Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in all Tamriel.

"It did!" Endain, the young whelp, now seventeen, turned suddenly towards us, eyes lit up with excitement, forgetting his usual humility for once. "My ma and pa told me stories about the Greybeards, and about Tiber Septim, and all about the Septim bloodline! How they possessed the very blood of Akatosh, or something..."

"Not blood, boy," said Njada impatiently. "Soul. At least, a warrior possessed a dragon soul."

And now I realized. I frowned. "You don't mean the Dragonborn, do you?"

"The one and only," replied Njada promptly, folding her strong arms over her chest.

Skjor looked interested. "What about the Dragonborn? We all knew that Tiber Septim was one."

"Tiber Septim was also the last Dragonborn to be summoned to High Hrothgar," said Njada, with complete exasperation. She pointed to the skies. "My father always said that the Greybeards summon the Dragonborn to their monastery if he is a warrior worthy of learning their ways of unrelenting power," she explained. "He told me that they Shouted from the heavens down to the warrior."

The twins, who were listening closely nearby, widened their eyes in amazement.

"Are you saying that...that a _Dragonborn_ has been found?" Vilkas asked quietly.

"But...but the last of the Septims died over two hundred years ago," Farkas argued, looking puzzled.

Njada whipped around and glared at Farkas. "The Dragonborn doesn't have to be of the Septim bloodline to be a warrior with great abilities!" she snapped. "I know the legends of the Dragonborn."

"And I," Endain said quickly, his eyes lit up. "I do know about the Dragonborn. My pa told me that the Dragonborn was a mortal, with the soul of a dragon."

Athis gave Endain a skeptical look. "Really? A _dragon_ soul, living within a mortal? How can that even be possible? Most likely that's just stupid, superstitious nonsense."

"I highly doubt it," I frowned, turning to Athis. "The Septim bloodline were thought to be blessed with the Dragon Blood. They wielded the Amulet of Kings, containing the very essence of Akatosh himself. Martin Septim shattered the amulet two hundred years ago and literally became a dragon. With the shattering of the Amulet, he could twist his spirit into a dragon's, and his blood forming the embodiment of the animal; surely that means that mortals can wield dragon spirits if Akatosh blessed them with one?"

Skjor nodded thoughtfully. "Sound theory. Akatosh gifted mortals with the blood once. Maybe this time he gifted a mortal with the soul of a dragon."

"But that's impossible—" began Athis.

"I don't think so," interjected Vilkas sternly. "The Dragonborn are thought to be the mightiest dragonslayers in all eternity."

"And the dragons...they're coming back," I murmured. The black dragon that flew over Whiterun...the dragon that had destroyed the watchtower, and been slain in turn. I glanced at Skjor, at Farkas and at Vilkas, at Torvar, at Njada, and Endain.

We all seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"The Dragonborn comes," murmured Skjor. "If only we knew who."

* * *

**A/N: Chapter forty-one, Unbroken, coming soon! Hang 'round!**


	42. Chapter 41 - Unbroken

Chapter Forty-One

The clash of metal rang around the clearing. Endain's face was a mass of concentration as he twisted and swerved, swinging his longsword around, bringing up his shield to accept the punishment of the blow from Ria's mace.

On light feet the Imperial danced around the Nord. Ria had been with the Companions a year longer than Endain had and had been on a few contracts, but Endain, though he had only left Jorrvaskr twice to venture beyond the Hold, fulfilling two contracts with Shield-Siblings watching his back, and still having much to learn, defended and attacked quite well.

I leaned against the pillaring, remembering with a small tug at my heart how, so many years ago to this day, I had come down from the Skyforge and found Myllasa and Aileen practicing in the yard. Orgmund leaning against this pillaring, arms folded, commenting loudly on their performances, his green eyes sharp with interest.

Where was Orgmund now?

My thoughts were momentarily interrupted when, noticing Endain preparing himself for a counterstrike blow, saw that he was not positioned properly to succeed at it. "Tuck your body in and put the strength into the thrust!" I shouted out to him. Quickly Endain righted himself, but stumbled nonetheless as he charged forward. Ria parried off the blow efficiently, but as she threw her mace down, it was blocked by Endain's swiftly-raised shield.

When they were nicely squalling again, I let my mind wander again...what had I been thinking about before? Oh, yes; where _was_ Orgmund now?

It had been so many years since Orgmund had finally turned feral. In all that time, he had completely vanished from our knowledge, melting into only the shadows of our memories. Though we all still bore the scars his Bloodlust-crazed claws had left in our skin. And I still bore the memory when Skjor and I had finally admitted our deeper feelings for one another.

And the two who had remained and were still conscious who had heard us admit this were gone, too. Samiith was in the Hunting Grounds. One day I would find him again. And Lemaat had returned to Hammerfell.

_So many have gone,_ I thought sadly to myself. But there was new life, the Circle restored, new whelps in the halls of Jorrvaskr.

The autumn sun shone down warm over me. It was the 19th of Heartfire. The harvest in Rorikstead would be well over by now, I thought vaguely to myself. I frowned slightly. How many years had now passed since I had joined the Companions?

I let my mind flicker back. I was now thirty-eight. Twenty years since I had first come to the Companions. It was hard to believe, quite hard indeed, to think of how far I had come in that time.

There was a yelp of pain and I snapped back into the present; a small cut had been opened on Ria's arm when she failed to deliver a parrying blow quickly enough against Endain.

"All right, enough!" I called out sharply, motioning for weapons to be lowered.

For a moment, the pair continued to fight, until my command finally was registered. Then Ria and Endain sheathed their weapons, and looked expectantly at me.

"It doesn't sting much," protested Ria. "Endain just got a lucky blow."

"Lucky! Well...maybe," said Endain, looking a little embarrassed as he glanced shyly at the Imperial woman.

_Far too humble for his own good,_ I thought. _I'd rather we had another Orgmund-like grouch in Jorrvaskr than a boy who's too shy to stick up for himself._ But maybe arrogance would come with time. "You're growing better in your moves," I commented to Endain. "You're shaping up well. Soon you'll be heading out on a solo contract yourself."

Endain brightened at this.

"In the meantime," I said, turning around, "let's head back indoors."

As we did so, I noticed that Skjor had returned from another contract someplace in the Reach, where a prisoner destined for Cidhna Mine had escaped, killed his guards, and had been roaming freely in the highlands until Skjor tracked him down and ended his life in a more prompt way than the Mines would have otherwise. But the prisoner had put up a fight; there was a light gash to Skjor's forehead.

"Not too painful, I hope?" I inquired, as I approached him, by ways of greeting. "Hasn't affected your mental ability, has it?"

"Unfortunately for you, no," replied Skjor, flashing a grin in my direction. "Little bastard got a blow in before I tore his life from his body."

I arched an eyebrow. "Did he have...that?"

Skjor frowned, knowing plainly what I meant. "No. The weapon was steel, not...other metals. I didn't take him out my favourite way."

"Oh, that's good. So you won't be too tired out to come hunting with me this evening."

Skjor's gaze lit up. "There's a full moon tonight. Hunting will be fantastic. We can't wait."

By _we_, I knew he meant himself and his wolf, prowling in his heart, waiting to be unleashed. I had long come to accept that the wolf and I were two separate beings. The wolf took over my body when I released it. The first time, I had allowed myself to sink into its embrace, to allow the changes in my body and blood to become permanent. But though its voice was stronger and more influential when it was released, I still kept my mind, and could still control the beast.

"How about you come and sit down?" I offered, leading Skjor over to a bench and throwing myself onto it. "I've been monitoring Endain's progress in training while you were away."

"Oh, really?" Skjor sat down beside me. "Does he show as much promise as Farkas and Vilkas did when they were adolescents?"

I made sure that Endain was nowhere near us before I leaned over and murmured, "Sadly, he doesn't have a born skill. But he's creating the skill, and honing it. He's becoming a fair fighter. With more training, he'll become a great warrior, I'm sure."

Skjor narrowed his eyes. "Sometimes, I wonder if we're letting them come to us too young."

"Sixteen is the age when Nords can make their own decisions," I said, remembering that that had been the age my old mentor had finally trusted me to go hunting out in the wilderness of Whiterun by myself. "And Endain made his decision coming to the Companions then. He's seventeen now. He's been out on a few contracts and got some experience. Before we know it, in a decade or two, he'll be with the Circle."

Skjor nodded. "And he'll be even stronger than before."

I was about to answer when suddenly I heard the door bang open. I frowned slightly and stood up from the bench, looking towards the doorway.

"Who is it?" asked Skjor quietly.

"Someone we haven't seen before," I replied. "By the looks of it, new blood."

She was a battle-hardened warrior, perhaps in her late thirties. She had rough reddish hair drawn back behind her head, and wore steel plate armour that was well-polished. She had a prominent chin and scars across a hardened, weathered face. A greatsword was slung across her back. Sharp, pale blue eyes fell on me, and almost at a march, she strode towards me.

"Would you be with the Companions?" she asked, her voice firm and slightly rimming with authority.

I arched an eyebrow wryly. "Yes, actually. And who might you be, stranger?"

"You may call me Uthgerd. The Unbroken," the woman added after a pause. "Because not once have I been felled in battle, by man or by beast alike."

Skjor rose to stand beside me. "And what is your purpose here, Uthgerd?" he asked, not using her last name. "Do you seek to join the Companions?"

Uthgerd gave a sharp nod. "Yes. I believe that you will find my skills quite satisfactory for your halls."

"In that case," I said, with a slight frown, "you'll want to speak – "

"With me," finished Kodlak, appearing suddenly from behind me and Skjor, making both of us turn around in surprise. The Harbinger paused in front of Uthgerd and looked sternly at her. "My dear, where exactly have you come from?" he inquired.

I was still slightly startled that Kodlak, who was so reclusive nowadays and tended to lock himself more and more inside his quarters, had suddenly appeared most conveniently behind me. But I pushed this thought aside quickly.

"From the hot, windswept Alik'r Desert in Hammerfell, where I often travelled, looking for worthy opponents to fell," said the traveller, and I swore that there was almost a snarl to her voice, as though she were angry. "But there, the animals run before I can find them, and when I discover where they stand, the cowards don't even put up a decent fight to defend themselves. For years I have worked in the hot, sundered dune-lands there as a common mercenary, but I have decided to come to Skyrim to try my luck. I heard about the Companions and made up my mind to offer my skills to them."

I frowned openly now. There was definitely an angry way which Uthgerd spoke. I was strongly reminded of Orgmund, but when he had become aggressive; the wolf edged his words then, but this woman was clean. I didn't smell any trace of lycanthropy upon her.

"You have a very strong heart, and talent with a sword; this I can see immediately," said Kodlak, frowning deeply also. "But your heart's fire burns too strongly. The heat of battle surges through your blood continuously, Uthgerd. And the anger within you...I can sense it, very strongly, very powerfully, coursing through your body. Where do you channel that anger, woman?"

Uthgerd's gaze narrowed. "Where do you think, old man?"

In a flash she had stepped back and drawn her sword, the firelight from the fire in Jorrvaskr catching on the sharp edges. "My sword has claimed more lives of the cowards of Hammerfell than you have found them in your lifetime," she declared.

I folded my arms firmly across my chest, and glanced at Skjor. The same expression I had on my face – dislike – was on his face, and his gaze was steely. "Being a Companion is not all about strength," he said firmly. "You need some skill with a weapon, yes. But you need to learn to calm down, to think to reason, to understand where authority lies and where you stand. You need to learn mercy."

"Mercy?" Uthgerd sheathed her blade abruptly and looked mockingly at Skjor. "And what would you know about mercy? Since when have you delivered mercy to a blood-crazed troll who comes streaking out at you in the frozen caverns of the wild? Since when have you delivered mercy to a highwayman who blocks your path and demands your gold? There is no place for such a trifle thing like mercy in this changing world."

_So she knows about the dragons, obviously,_ I thought.

"There is a place for mercy," I responded. "Your fire burns too brightly with the lust for battle, Uthgerd, if you do not understand pity. You cannot have a place here."

"Aela speaks with the truth," Kodlak agreed, as Uthgerd's expression suddenly hardened. "You are too fiery, too...hot-headed, shall we say. You cannot have a place amongst us, warrior."

_Such anger, _I thought, staring at the woman clad in steel armour. I think Skjor, Kodlak and I also knew why we denied her entrance amongst our numbers. With such strength, she would be expected to become a member of the Circle. And then to become His Hound. I knew that if the wolf entered Uthgerd's soul, her endless anger and her lust for battle would drive the wolf to Bloodlust too often. It would become feral. And she would not be able to control it. She could not even control her anger. _In just a short time, should she accept the blood, she would become feral, like Orgmund,_ I told myself. _We cannot allow this woman to suffer that fate._

Fury roared in Uthgerd's eyes. "You send me away because I am too strong?" she spat disbelievingly. "You have not even learned of how I fight. You do not understand how I fight! You have not given me a fair chance, a chance to prove my worth to you. From what I have heard of your order, you give new bloods a test, to see if they have enough 'mettle'. I have more than enough!"

That was true. We did have to, with Kodlak's permission, test out newcomers to see their strengths and how they fought. We had not given this fiery woman a chance to show her worth yet.

I glanced at my Harbinger, and saw that he was already thinking. Then he turned back to Uthgerd, and in almost a resigned voice, he said, "Very well, Uthgerd Unbroken. We will test your arm."

Uthgerd nodded. "Good. Thank you."

"Aela," he said, turning to me. I sighed inwardly, and took a step forward, but instead, I saw Kodlak shake his head slightly.

"Not you," he said. "Go and find Endain."

Shock shot through me. "Harbinger?" I asked, slightly uncertainly.

Perhaps he understood my hesitation. Members of the Circle took on newcomers. Not whelps. And particularly not our most recent whelp, who was still learning how to fight, and how to control thrusts and parrying motions. In undertones, Kodlak muttered, "This is not going to be a test of this woman's strength, Aela. This is going to be a test if she really does have the control over her heart's fire burning in her blood."

So it was not a test of mettle, but that of control. Of pity. Of course; throwing Uthgerd against our weakest whelp had to spark some level of pity. If she learned mercy, then Kodlak would allow her entrance into the Companions.

Even so, I couldn't help but feel a small squirm of anxiety dwell in the pits of my stomach when I headed downstairs into the undercroft to find Endain. Perhaps Kodlak should have chosen another whelp. Torvar, or Njada, or Ria. Athis wasn't in Jorrvaskr; probably down in the Bannered Mare getting a drink, I presumed.

I found Endain in his room, helping Ria apply a small dose of healing balm to the scratch on her arm. They looked up quickly as I entered.

"M – Huntress?" asked Endain, hastily standing to attention. "Did you want me for something?"

"Yes, actually," I replied. "There's a new blood upstairs. Kodlak wants you to be her opponent in her test."

Surprise flashed in both Ria's and Endain's gazes. They exchanged a startled glance, before Endain turned back to Aela. "The...the Harbinger himself wants me to test my strength against the woman?"

I nodded, to hide my growing unease. "She's waiting. You'd best come up."

"All...all right, I guess." Still bemused, Endain glanced back at Ria. "I'll be back soon, I guess."

Ria shrugged. "Bloody her nose for me, will you?"

I led Endain upstairs. I glanced back at the young Nord boy and muttered, "Remember; this is her test. All you need to do is defend yourself, and strike when necessary."

Endain gave a nervous nod. "It's okay. I...I think I understand."

"Good. Good luck, Endain."

When Endain and I reached the upper level, Jorrvaskr was empty. I guessed they were out in the training yard, and my guess was proved correct when Endain and I headed out through the back doors. Uthgerd was standing near one of the training dummies, absently swinging her greatsword from hand to hand, and she sharply looked up as Endain and I approached where she and the members of the Circle were gathered.

Disbelief flashed in Uthgerd's gaze. "_That's_ who I'm meant to be fighting?" she spat with disbelief.

Kodlak narrowed his eyes. "This is who you will face, Uthgerd."

Endain looked abashed at Uthgerd's comment to him. "Are you saying that I can't defend myself?" he asked, some of his humility disappearing, a trace of anger appearing in his voice.

Uthgerd frowned, scowling at Endain. "You haven't met a real warrior, boy, until you've faced me," she said.

"Peace, warrior," said Skjor firmly. "This is your test. You are not fighting to kill. You are fighting to prove your strength, and to prove your control."

"Control? I have total control!" Uthgerd grasped the handle of her blade more firmly, and I could clearly see the anger in her gaze now as she glared at Endain. "Come on, then, boy. Let's see if you've got any mettle to show me!"

I stepped back, taking my place beside Skjor and Kodlak nearby, but well out of the way of the two challengers. Endain tightened the grip on his shield, and pulled out his sword with a flourish, readying himself. I could almost smell the nervousness coming from the whelp, and his efforts to hide it, in the scowling, darkened face of Uthgerd.

"Begin!" called Kodlak.

With a roar of anger, Uthgerd charged, blade raised high. Immediately Endain sidestepped, bringing up his shield to deflect the blow. The force of it sent him staggering, however, but he regained his balance quicker than Uthgerd did. He thrust his sword forward. Uthgerd spun around and clashed her own greatsword against his blade. Endain gasped as vibrations shook the bones in his arm but he refused to let go of the weapon, taking a few steps backward.

Uthgerd charged once more. This time, Endain took desperate measures and rolled, right beneath the violent sweep of the greatsword that had the strength to cleave a tree trunk in two. Slightly awkwardly, he stood up again, and raised his shield sharply to block the heavy blow that Uthgerd delivered.

She laughed mockingly as Endain took a few steps backward, the pain in his face evident, and I could almost feel his aching wrists. "Not too tough are you, Companion?" she said, almost sneeringly, the way she would speak to an opponent.

"I'm...tough enough," Endain nervously retorted, preparing himself for another attack, which Uthgerd promptly delivered.

In a whirl of her greatsword, Uthgerd pushed forward, cutting a wound through the leather bracers Endain wore around his wrists, and a small bead of blood fell from the cut and onto the cobblestone. Endain let out a gasp of pain.

_Surely,_ I thought, _this hot-headed woman is going to feel some mercy. Some part of her will remind her that this is not a real battle, that her opponent is only seventeen..._

In another sweep, Uthgerd slashed her greatsword across Endain's shield, tearing it from his grasp. In another motion, her boot had kicked out into Endain's leg, making the Nord boy cry out in pain and stagger backwards, vulnerable for attack.

_Surely..._

I didn't even finish my thought statements, and only watched in increasing alarm as Uthgerd pressed, sweeping her greatsword low and then abruptly up, throwing the sword from Endain's grasp. Before the whelp could comprehend what was happening, Uthgerd lashed out with one gauntleted arm. Her blow smashed hard against Endain's face and he fell back some more, blood falling from his nose and his lips, and already purple bruising welling up beneath one eye and over his jaw.

"Gods, she's—" _killing him!_ I waited, almost desperately, for Uthgerd to realize her enemy had been defeated. That defeat did not have to always mean death. That she could show mercy, show pity.

Suddenly Uthgerd rushed forward. She swept her greatsword around and slammed the blade as hard as she could into Endain's side.

His eyes widened in indescribable agony. My cry of horror was lost in my throat. Kodlak had already been moving before Uthgerd had struck the killing blow, but had reached her too late. Even so, as though it would help, he seized her shoulders and dragged her back, forcing her to drag the greatsword from Endain.

Crimson blood splashed against the stone.

Endain gasped, blood spilling quickly over his body, and then collapsed.

"No!" Now I could speak. And I ran forward towards the fallen whelp, kneeling down urgently beside him.

He was trying to speak. His eyes stared up at nothingness. Blood bubbled at his lips, sweat dotted his bruised face. In desperation I pressed my hand against Endain's side, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it came out hot and it came out wet.

The other hand, I pressed over his heart.

"Breathe, Endain," I said to him quietly, urgently. "Breathe."

But he couldn't. The blow had punctured his lung. With heaving rasps, Endain desperately tried to focus on something, anything, but the pain in his eyes was intensifying. His heart beat frantically beneath my hand. The blood, undaunted by the blockage over the deep wound, continued to spill onto the ground.

And then, his heart slowed, abruptly. I heard a soft sigh escape Endain's lips. His head lolled back, and his eyes became glazed and pale.

His life had left him.

My eyes were round with horror, with disbelief.

_No,_ I whispered mentally. Endain couldn't be dead.

But he was.

Slowly, I removed my hand, coated dark crimson with his blood, and looked up towards Uthgerd.

The light of battle had died from her eyes. And now she stared at Endain's body in a mixture of horror and shock. Her greatsword, stained with Endain's blood, lay slack in her hands.

"No...no, I didn't mean...I couldn't...I..." Uthgerd's horror-laced words stuttered into silence.

Kodlak's gaze shadowed with an emotion I didn't dare describe, as he turned cold eyes to Uthgerd.

For a moment, I expected Kodlak to suddenly roar with rage, to draw his own weapon, to strike Uthgerd down so her own lifeblood pooled out on the training area as well. I expected Kodlak to suddenly let out a savage snarl, to lurch forwards, releasing the wolf within him, leaping onto Uthgerd and tearing her apart. That's what I felt like doing to that woman right now, who suddenly repulsed me, and who I suddenly hated with more hatred than I had ever felt towards an individual before.

But all Kodlak said, in a voice that made ice feel like fire, was: "Leave."

* * *

"Before the ancient flame..."

"We grieve."

"At this loss..."

"We weep."

"For the fallen..."

"We shout!"

"And for ourselves..."

"We take our leave."

Our voices echoed not around Jorrvaskr, but around the Skyforge, outlined faintly against a late dusk sky. The embers were only vaguely warm, but the fires would roar, when encouraged. Silently, I stood beside Skjor, looking numbly as Kodlak solemnly approached where Endain lay, upon a pile of wood spread and stacked over the embers. The torch cast long shadows across Kodlak's weathered face. The Harbinger paused, and then leaned forward, and allowed the flickering tongues of fire to spread into the Skyforge.

Almost at once, the fires shot up, hungrily devouring the wood and curling around Endain's body. The Companions watched moodily, their expressions dull with disbelief, that Endain was dead. The young boy had only been with the Companions for just over a year. And now he was gone. Nearby, silent tears were falling down Ria's face.

For a while, we watched as the flames curled and twisted around the stack of wood. Gradually cinders swept up into the air, and the odor of burning flesh grew in strength, until the Companions each began to leave the Skyforge.

I turned and muttered, "Let's just go."

Skjor accompanied me without complaint. We made our way down the stone steps and into the training yard, which had been scrubbed by Tilma after Endain's death. After a moment, Skjor glanced at me and muttered, "Still keen on hunting tonight?"

I hesitated. "No, not really. Endain's death kind of put it off for tonight."

I looked up at the moon. The Bloodlust was seething within me but I knew that I wouldn't be able to focus on the hunt. Indeed, on anything, but Uthgerd. The rage that had burned within me still continued to burn, as brightly as the Skyforge fire.

"Poor kid," murmured Skjor sympathetically. "He didn't deserve to die like that. When he wasn't meant to die. Too much Nord blood is being spilled these days."

Blood...

_Beware the anger that follows, for it will bring naught but grief in the end. In the fires of sorrow the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it_.

My mind flashed back to the prophecy Olava had given me. Had she somehow referred to Endain's death? I looked back up at the Skyforge. It was obvious what the fires of sorrow were now.

But the broken will be mended...

Uthgerd called herself Unbroken. And I remembered the obvious horror in her eyes the moment Kodlak had dragged her away from Endain. The remorse that I could feel coming from her as she walked away from Jorrvaskr. Had she somehow been broken at last?

Unless it meant her anger had been broken. And before, she _had_ wielded it...

I frowned. Had Olava spun the last parts of her prophecy around Uthgerd? That she was more connected to Jorrvaskr than I could have realized?

But some part of me, particularly the wolfish side within me, was protesting strongly. That Uthgerd had no relation in the prophecy at all.

So what was? What had been broken? What would be mended?

And then there was another part to the prophecy, the part she had uttered just before.

_Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch. Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved._

Of course it had. The Silver Hand had already taken away my most beloved; Panjor.

He wasn't beloved to me anymore. He wasn't like a father to me, not now. I clenched my hands into fists, as I remembered my task, what my lord had wished me to do. To kill Panjor. To eliminate the Silver Hand. So that His Hounds would be at peace.

If Hircine had told me of my duty before I knew the truth, then I would have refused to do it. And most likely earned eternal damnation.

But I felt no more loyalty to Panjor.

When he and I next met, I would make sure that this time, he would be the one to die. And that never again would he evade me, take another life away from me, the life of someone who I was close to.

If only I had known how mistaken I had been. If only I had known how utterly I would fail in that promise.

* * *

**A/N: RIP Endain. Yea sorry he didn't live longer, but I knew I had to include Uthgerd in the Companions somewhere; she made such a significant impression them that it was impossible to leave her out. Do not worry, Skyflower, he was not with the Silver Hand.**

**And I got this chapter up quickly. Hopefully, another chapter will be coming soon! Next time; Aela and co. are assigned to head out to Bonestrewn Crest...  
**


	43. Chapter 42 - Bonestrewn Crest

**A/N: And here it is, guys! A nice long chapter for you all to enjoy :)**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two

Kodlak looked up, almost wearily, as I entered the doorway to his quarters.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked.

"Yes, Aela. Come, sit down. Oh, and close the door behind you."

I did as he commanded, and went and took my place across the table from him. "Yes, Harbinger? What do you need?"

Kodlak let out a troubled sigh. "I have a new contract for you."

"You do?" I couldn't keep the eagerness out of my voice. It had been months since I had last gone out on a contract, and though I had been working off my excess energy by hunting at night, hunting myself to the point of exhaustion, and to keep my wolf at bay, it hadn't been the same as going into a bandit den and cracking some skulls or cutting some throats.

Kodlak frowned slightly. "Yes. But your contract's not what I have called you aside privately to speak to you about."

"What is it, then?"

Kodlak sighed softly. "It's...about the Dream I had."

I looked surprised. "What about the Dream? You said that we have a choice."

"Yes, we do..." Kodlak seemed unhappy. "But I fear it is not as easy as that. You see..." he broke off again, into silence.

I frowned. "Did you leave out something?"

Kodlak looked up at me again, his gaze narrowed. "Nothing escapes your awareness, does it, Huntress?"

"You're giving all the telltale signs," I pointed out, folding my arms. "We're the Circle. Your closest advisors. You're meant to trust us. How can the Companions function if you're not even trusting your senior members?"

Kodlak's brow furrowed, as though he didn't entirely believe what I was saying was correct. "You know that I trust you and Skjor with my life, and the same likewise," he said. "But there are some matters which need to remain personal."

"If it concerns our blessing, then you should be free to tell all of us what is going on," I argued.

Kodlak's lips twitched, forming the word 'blessing', though I sensed skepticism behind the repetition of the word. I frowned slightly at this. Didn't Kodlak believe the beastblood to be a blessing? To be protected always by Hircine a blessing? Then what was?

"What did you leave out about your Dream?" I prompted.

Kodlak let out a troubled sigh. "Very well. I'll tell you some of the truth, but not all. I prefer to keep most of what I am going to say to myself."

I was still discontented, but I didn't let it show. My respect for Kodlak was too great. "Very well. Tell me as much or as little as you care to, Harbinger," I sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Kodlak really looked troubled now. "When I said that you had a choice, I didn't speak the truth. We are dragged into the Hunting Grounds whether we want to or not. Our beast spirits overpower our own. We become wolves, and wolves are animals. And all animals go to the Hunting Grounds in death."

_I know what it's like to be a wolf, trust me; and not a transformed one,_ I thought, remembering my sessions in the Communal with my Lord.

"In my Dream, I stood on the horizon, and it did seem then that I had a choice," Kodlak went on. "Tsun was standing on the horizon. He was beckoning to me, urging me to come to the Whalebone Bridge, to enter the Halls. And then I felt myself slipping, saw a great wolf loom before me, to drag me to Hircine. I could almost hear the Huntsman's melodious laugh in my ears as the wolf approached."

He stopped abruptly, as though uncertain to go on.

"What happened next? Were you dragged into the Hunting Grounds?" I inquired.

"No." Kodlak's voice was a mere whisper now. "Something...stopped me."

I frowned. "I sense you're not telling the whole truth there, Harbinger."

"You're quite right, I'm not telling the whole truth, but I don't wish to say any more regarding the Dream," said Kodlak quietly. "But I know this much, and I'll say this now; I want Sovngarde as my spirit home. I don't wish for my Lord's plane of Oblivion when I die."

I was startled, to hear the truth come from his own words. "You...you don't want to hunt at Hircine's side for all eternity?" I asked in my confusion.

Kodlak frowned heavily. "I may be a lycanthrope outside and in soul, but my heart is with Skyrim, and with Sovngarde," he said, almost determinedly. "I have long realized that I made a mistake the moment I accepted the beastblood into my life. I was a fool to have ever thought that being a werewolf would give me great power, great strength, unmatched in battle."

"But it has," I argued. "You made a commitment to a Daedric Prince, Kodlak. You can't break one with the Daedra that easily without suffering majorly in the future."

Kodlak gave a grim smile. "I don't have much of a future left, girl. The rot's growing worse, as you know; progressively. I'm not the warrior I once was. As my body yearns for sleep and for rest I yearn for Sovngarde to be my spirit home."

Here, he looked at me with a steely glint in his paling gaze. "You may prosper at the thought of the Hunting Grounds as your post-death location but I do not. I will tell you the truth, as long as you promise not to try and dissuade me."

I narrowed my eyes. "I can sense there'd be no dissuading with you in what you're about to say right now. But I don't think I'm going to like it, or Hircine."

"Hircine definitely will not like what I'm doing, but I don't care what he thinks of me anymore," growled Kodlak. "I'm trying to find a way to cure myself."

I was startled. "You...you are?"

"As my twilight years settled around me I've been looking for a cure," frowned Kodlak. "So far, I have proved unsuccessful. The only thing I _have_ managed to do is stop the Bloodlust from taking over my mind and body. But it's been...difficult."

"You're not transforming anymore?"

"Does it _look_ like I've transformed?"

Kodlak looked into my eyes steadily and I looked at him, and then I realized...that yes, he was quite right. That Kodlak was looking...more whole. Fresher. Less hungry. His face was more filled, his eyes clearer, his outlines less noticeable. There was not a single trace of hunger over his face. And the deeper I looked into his eyes, the more empty it seemed. His wolf wasn't speaking its thoughts anymore. It was lying dormant, unused, within him.

"Proving my strength and dominance over the beastblood has been difficult, and trying at times," Kodlak admitted. "But I refuse to serve Hircine any longer. I am not going to go to the Hunting Grounds when the rot takes me."

I frowned warningly at him. "Hircine isn't going to like this at all. He'll punish you in some way before the end, Kodlak."

"I daresay he will," said Kodlak. "But I am a true Nord. I face my challenges head on. Let Hircine bring his punishments to me. I overthrew the Bloodlust in my beastblood and the wolf inside of me is now chained and dormant. He cannot turn me feral as easily as he did to Orgmund."

He sighed. "But enough of my matters at hand. You still have a contract to complete."

I was dissatisfied, and alarmed that Kodlak's intentions were so grim, but I refused to let either emotion show over my face as I sat up in my chair and said, "Well, where am I going to?"

"Recently a wealthy family in Windhelm reported that a family heirloom was stolen from their home, and that the town guard tracked the bandits into the tundra in Eastmarch," said Kodlak. "The heirloom is thought to be somewhere around Bonestrewn Crest."

"So I basically head out to the Crest, get the heirloom, return it to the wealthy robbed family and come home again with easy gold?"

"I daresay it's not going to be that easy. Recently at night the locals in Windhelm have been hearing odd noises coming from the Crest." Kodlak looked gravely at me. "You aren't to go alone, in any case. Farkas and Njada are to accompany you."

"Not Skjor?" I couldn't stop myself asking.

"No; I need to have a word with him, and I want him to stay around Jorrvaskr for a few days onward," said Kodlak in response.

"This...doesn't have anything to do with the Silver Hand, does it?" I finally demanded.

"I don't believe it is," said Kodlak calmly. "We haven't had any news of the majority of the Silver Hand since...well, what happened that night at the Keep."

_And therefore not Panjor,_ I thought. How could anyone prove that damn elusive? _We_ were meant to be the true hunters. We should have found him long ago, and made him and every single member of the Silver Hand suffer.

But the Silver Hand were hunters, too; well-trained hunters, at that. They could hide just as well as we could.

Now it was just the waiting game.

The most tantalizing game of all.

* * *

"Be careful," I said to Farkas. "These geysers – "

I heard a yelp of pain issue from Farkas's mouth, and he leapt back from the split in the earth as it began to gush boiling-hot steam.

" – have a tendency to erupt," I finished wearily. "Be careful where you put your feet, Farkas."

"Right. Um. Sorry." Farkas, muttering inaudibly to himself, nursed his burned hands.

"How far away is this bloody Crest?" growled Njada irritably, dodging another crack's sudden decision to ejaculate every inch of hot steam it had within it. "We've been walking through this damned place and killing Gods-cursed bears for hours."

I paused near one of the many green geyser lakes and looked up towards where we were headed. The Crest was an imposing looming shadow, a large stony hill or a small mountain. "Not too far to go," I replied simply, striding forward once more. "Doesn't look like there are any bandits nearby, at any rate. Probably forgot about their treasure."

"So all the more pickings for us," Njada guessed, a glint coming into her eyes.

"We need to get the heirloom for the family in Windhelm first," frowned Farkas, glancing sternly at his Shield-Sister. "Then we can decide on what goods there are to go around."

"Who knows what we'll find?" Njada commented. "New armour, new weapons...priceless gems and rubies that'll make Eorlund want to knock out his own teeth for them...and the bandits like storing gold away in chests, too. There'll be heaps to go around!..."

I let my mind wander and didn't bother listening to the rest of what Njada was saying eagerly to Farkas. My attention was fixed on walking around the discoloured lakes and knowing which parts of the hot rock beneath my boots was safe to tread on without being burned into mist. Where _were_ the bandits? Usually they didn't stray far. Now the Crest was coming into plain sight, and there seemed to be no signs of two-legged life other than ourselves.

"Hey, Aela, check this out."

I paused, looking back at Njada. She was standing on the edge of some sort of crater.

"What is it?" I turned back.

"Dunno...but it looks almost like..." Njada's voice was wondering. Farkas was also standing on the edge of the crater thing, also lost for words.

I paused beside Njada and looked at the pit.

"...like something came _out _of it," Njada finished.

I could see what she meant. But how? The crater wasn't very deep, but there was definitely disturbed gravelly earth here. And the top of the crater thing...it had been made of stone. I knew by the broken fragments of weed-coated rock that lay scattered around the pit. What animal small enough to fit in a pit that was about my height in depth had the strength to push itself upwards through a half-metre of solid rock?

And where was it now?

Then again, the pit was quite wide. Several mammoths could stand in the pit quite comfortably.

I turned away. "Whatever was in it, it's gone now. And I'm not going to wait around to find out what came out of the pit. We need to get to the Crest and that's what I intend to do. I want to get off this Gods-forsaken tundra as much as you do."

"True that," Njada conceded, as she and Farkas fell into step behind me.

For a while, we were in concentrated silence as we made our way across the heated earth and around the splits in the ground that gushed out steam towards the Crest. It certainly did look like a small mountain. There was even a pathway leading up from the steep stone sides and to the wide, flattened head above. Then, Farkas broke the silence.

"Are you detecting anything...strange, Aela?" he asked.

I frowned, pausing. What did he mean?

Farkas looked sharply up at the Crest, and I heard a low growl suddenly issue from his lips. And I understood. I closed my eyes briefly and felt the wolf within me stir, muttering darkly, _We hate fire. We hate it, it burns, and it hurts us. Turn back, away from the fire._

What fire? The only thing I was concerned about was the fact that the tundra was more than capable of erupting like Red Mountain at any moment, though the only stuff that would be coming out beneath the heated earth was steam, not fire. But the wolf was persistent, telling me over and over again to turn back and run from the Crest.

I opened my eyes. "You're right. There's something up there, all right."

"What are you talking about?" Njada asked impatiently.

Why did there _always_ have to be a whelp around? Irritably I clenched my teeth, forcing out my sigh in a long, slow breath, before saying, "Just be on your guard. I don't know what's up on the Crest but most likely it's guarding the treasure, and the heirloom we were paid to retrieve."

"What was the heirloom?" asked Njada.

"Some kind of amulet, with a large blue gemstone set in the centre. For the Cruel-Sea family in Windhelm." I shrugged the bow from my shoulders. Though it didn't have quite as nice a touch as my old bow from Panjor, and it wasn't as broken in as that old bow as well, it did well, and was a bit lighter than my old weapon. Skjor had uncovered it during an old contract, when I was still recovering from my near-permanent-death experience fourteen years ago, and I had used it ever since. Turning back to the Companions, I said, "Let's go. I want to be in Windhelm before nightfall."

Njada and Farkas drew their weapons obligingly and followed me up as I climbed the steep, sloping pathway to the top of the Crest. The wolf howled louder and louder in the depths of my mind until I was almost muttering what it was muttering, though I refused to make the change. I didn't shift skins out of cowardice, and I didn't run until I had seen my enemy.

But the wolf hadn't acted like this before. Had it?

Farkas was looking uncomfortable as well. He kept blinking, softly cursing under his breath, and I knew that he was struggling with his wolf as well. But Njada seemed to notice nothing. She seemed intent on finding whatever 'treasure' there was up in at the top of the Crest.

We rounded a corner. The wolf let out one final protesting howl, before fading into nervous silence.

The top of Bonestrewn Crest was aptly named. The skeletons and corpses of hundreds of once-beings and animals lay scattered carelessly around the head of the small mountain. Tall stone spires rose up into the sky, forming a kind of wall around the Crest, as though a massive stone claw beneath the earth had reached up and grasped the mountain, the sharp fingers aimed at the sun high above. My eyes flickered around for a moment, before landing on a large brown chest, lying beside some sort of strange, enormous stone wall, with an odd array of runes and carvings on the inside of its curves. Lying over the stone wall thing was –

"A dragon?" gasped Njada.

It _was_ a dragon. But it seemed to be carved out of a kind of brownish-greyish rock, and it lay sprawled over the word wall as though it were sleeping. But it didn't move one inch; its sides weren't moving if it were truly asleep. And yet...it looked so lifelike...

"It's so real," breathed Farkas in awe. "I wonder who carved it?"

"And why," murmured Njada.

Her gaze fell onto the chest. "There seems to be our treasure." She began to head towards it, but I suddenly lashed out and grabbed her shoulder.

"Aela—?" Njada pulled herself free and stared at me as if I were crazy. "What is going on with you? The chest is right there!"

"Yes, but aren't you wondering what killed all of those people?" I asked sharply, pointing to the mass of corpses.

Njada shrugged. "They're old, all of them. Dead bandits, just rotted away. We find worse in Draugr-infested crypts!"

"And the ones who look as if they've been completely burned to death?" I inquired, pointing to one such body. "Head to foot?"

Njada hesitated.

"Aela could be right," muttered Farkas, looking around uneasily. "This could be a trap."

_The wolves also say so,_ I thought to myself. A little uneasily, I looked back at the dragon statue, and almost at once, felt doubt flood through me. It looked too real to be a statue, too genuine. Was it really made out of stone, or just blending in?

As though right on cue, the wolf let out a howl of fear, as I heard life flicker within the dragon. And two pairs of copper-red eyes suddenly opened.

Njada's scream of terror was lost in the dragon's roar. It abruptly shook life back into its body, rearing up on the stone wall and letting out an unearthly scream. I began to pull an arrow out from my quiver but suddenly the dragon had hurled itself into flight above, and a rush of wind knocked me off my feet, powerful as a whirlwind. Njada fell as well. Farkas stumbled, but his usual heavy strength and fortitude saved him from losing his footing.

There was the sound of spinning wings, and I whipped around, to find that the dragon had landed behind us, its massive brown-grey body completely blocking the entrance to the Crest. And the only way out. I had already yanked out an arrow and fired it at the dragon. It shot into its scaled hide and let out a hiss of frustration, but didn't move; my arrow didn't even seem to have hurt it.

"Sahlo joorre! Zu du hin slen!" the dragon rasped.

None of us had any idea what the dragon said, and we didn't care. All we knew was that we had to stay alive. The dragon took a deep breath and jerked its head back. "YOL..."

_Move!_ The wolf roared.

I threw myself to the side, as did Njada and Farkas, as a jet of flames suddenly shot out from the dragon's maw. The heat rolled over me, but fortunately did not brush me, and by the time the fiery storm stopped and the dragon rapidly took flight again, I was unhurt, and Farkas and Njada were the same.

I grabbed my bow, to see the dragon circling hungrily overhead. "Shit. Now what do we do?"

"There's no chance of running," growled Njada. "That thing moves with the speed of swallows. We'll have to fight."

"A dragon?" I asked incredulously. "Since when have any of us had experience killing _dragons_ before?"

"We'd best gain some experience, then," replied Farkas, determinedly gripping his greatsword. I pulled out another arrow, drew the string back, and aimed.

_Let it strike its heart,_ I thought, and released.

My desire did come true, thanks to Hircine's token, but it didn't seem to hurt the dragon. The arrow plunged into its chest, and the dragon let out a bellow of fury, though it didn't suddenly fall out of the sky dead. That was too much to hope for. Instead the dragon whirled around, and swooped down towards where we stood.

"Move!" I bellowed, and we moved, nearly tripping over ourselves. I felt a rush of warm air fall over my back and the sharp _clack_ of fangs as they closed scarce inches away from my shoulder. And then I was suddenly knocked off my feet as something that was as heavy as steel slammed into my chest, knocking me over. As I lay on my back, trying to gather my ringing senses, I looked up, wondering vaguely if my ribs were broken, to see the dragon whirl up into the sky and prepare for another attack.

My senses returned, and I quickly pushed myself to my feet, grasping my bow. The dragon plummeted. And as it drew near me, Farkas appeared, greatsword in hand. He swung it as hard as he could into the wings of the dragon as it shot near him, and by the way that black blood splattered on the earth, and the dragon let out a shriek of pain, crashing clumsily onto the ground instead of tearing my arm off, I knew that Farkas had wounded it.

"Get it while it's weak!" I yelled, pulling out an arrow, and releasing it against the dragon's hide. The arrow struck the shoulder but rebounded; the dragonscales were hard there. The dragon pushed itself onto its end wing joints and snarled as Farkas and Njada closed in.

"Meyye! Zu'u neh sahlo!" growled the dragon. Its burning copper eyes fixed suddenly upon Njada. The Nord warrior let out a fearsome battlecry and swung her sword around, ready to cleave the dragon's snout.

But suddenly its head lurched forward, and Njada barely saved herself from the lethal jaws. Farkas charged, but I saw the long, scaled tail suddenly sweep around. I cried a warning but before I had finished the tail had suddenly slammed into Farkas's back.

The werewolf staggered, the weapon dropping out of his hands. I released another arrow, this time sinking into the dragon's scaled hide but doing little damage. Its gaze whirled around to glare at me, and suddenly it lurched forward. Its jaws parted, and I heard it begin to snarl, "YOL..."

And then it broke off with another hiss of pain as Njada slammed her greatsword down on one of its fleshy wings. Another splash of blood fell over the earth. I released another arrow, sinking it into its currently uninjured wing, though it did little damage as well. The dragon took a struggling step backward, and whipped around sharply, jaws snapping at Njada. She brought her weapon swinging up, deflecting the deadly fangs, while Farkas, who had used the time while the dragon was distracted to pick up his greatsword, slammed his weapon as hard as he could down across the dragon's snout.

The dragon let out an irate hiss and drew back, a small gash evident over its horrid scaly head.

"Aim for the face!" I shouted, loosing another arrow towards its crest of head horns, and the arrowhead lodging just beneath on its fleshy throat. "Try to get its head turned towards me!" If I could just manage to get a good shot at its eyes...

I had a feeling this dragon understood the common speech. Suddenly it reared up on its hind legs before any of us could do anything. Its massive wings flapped but it didn't take off, and it let out a high-pitched scream that made my senses ring. A torrent of wind slammed into my body, and all three of us were knocked off our feet in the raw power from its flapping wings.

Suddenly the dragon leapt up into the air, and its wings flapped strongly on either side of it, carrying it up and over the Crest, and back into the sky, despite the deep bloody gashes Farkas and Njada had delivered. It let out a hollow, haunting roar as it circled once more above Bonestrewn Crest, where I had a feeling that very soon, we three Companions would be little more than three more charred corpses. We had been left winded, but Farkas and I recovered the quickest, our beastblood giving us more-than-average strength. Quickly I grabbed my bow and stood up.

"The Huntsman claim you!" I bellowed without thinking, as I loosed another arrow, wishing nothing more than for the beast to fall.

The arrow flew true, plunging more deeply in the dragon's underbelly, and nearer to its throat, and I heard it suddenly bellow with pain, its flight movements suddenly growing jagged and uneven for a moment. I let out a cry of satisfaction, which quickly died in my throat as I suddenly saw its movements grow strong...and focused.

"YOL..."

And suddenly a fiery ball of flame fell from its parted jaws, and spun down towards the Crest. "Move!" I shouted to the others, and then the fireball slammed into the Crest.

Heat unlike anything I had ever experienced before slammed over me, and the force of the fireball slamming into the stone ground made me lose my footing. I fell, the bow skidding out of reach from my fingertips. Dust whirled up into the air in the wake of the impact of the fireball. As I pushed myself upright again, my senses streaming from the clouds of dust that fell over me, I heard the dragon roar gleefully as it loomed over us, still in the air, hovering.

I looked up at it, to look into its burning copper eyes.

_I'm not going to die that easily!_

The wolf snarled.

_I still have a Gods-damned task to do!_

As the dragon opened its jaws once more, I lunged for my bow, already pulling out an arrow as I rolled. The dragon swerved to keep me in its sight, but still on my back, I had the arrow readied, and aiming for its throat. Its eyes widened, and it pulled itself forward abruptly in the air, but my arrow had already been released, and it whistled through the air, slamming just beneath its wing joint. The dragon howled, though mostly out of rage than pain, whirling up into the sky again.

"Come down here and fight, you damned coward!" I shouted angrily, exhilaration flooding through me. A clatter of armour and weapons nearby made me guess that Njada and Farkas were scrambling to their feet and grabbing their swords, though they'd be about as useful as feathers with the dragon being up in the air. I pulled out another arrow and fired.

The dragon hissed. I saw a strange gleam come into its eyes, and it suddenly let out a bellow, shrieking a strange word.

Suddenly its form shivered, and it melted into what I could only call a spectral form. It had become ethereal, I realized. My arrow, aimed for its heart, simply shot straight through its body and continued on a doomed flight into the sky.

Missed. My arrow had missed.

Hircine's blessing to me had been broken!

I almost heard the wolf scream in despair. The dragon continued its flight, circling lower and lower around the Crest, preparing to land, or to dive and snatch us up in its huge maw. "It's too powerful," I murmured, my voice nearly too faint for Njada and Farkas to hear. "It's too strong."

Farkas gripped his greatsword. "Then we go down fighting."

"And keep fighting it," growled Njada.

The dragon's ethereal broke. In a flash, it whipped around, swooping swiftly towards us, with huge talons outstretched. I knew we wouldn't be able to dodge this attack in time. I braced myself to enter Hircine's welcoming embrace as I fell into the Hunting Grounds –

Only to hear a sound, loud as thunder, suddenly tear through the air. What I could only describe to be blue force suddenly pulsed from behind me, though it was aimed at the dragon, and struck it squarely in its scarred face. The dragon let out a bellowing roar of shock, its swoop faltering as it was pushed relentlessly backwards, slamming clumsily into the earth in a mass of wings, tail and claws.

I whirled around, to find a stranger standing at the edge of the Crest, dressed in strange dark armour that looked like woven shadow, and face completely concealed beneath a deep cowl, shadowing all but the lower half of the face. She was just closing her lips into a determined line.

The dragon suddenly picked itself up, and fixed the strange, black-clad woman with a mixture of fear and hunger. "Hio hind wah krii zu, dovahkiin?"

I frowned. Dovahkiin...? Wasn't that the same name that the Greybeards Shouted, the previous year?

The woman's voice was angry and hoarse as she responded. "I killed your buddies Mirmulnir and Sahloknir and you're going to die as well. I don't speak Dovah the way you do, not yet, but it won't be long before I start speaking like a dragon should."

The dragon curled back its lips to reveal long fangs. "Mirmulnir, sizaan ahrk dilon? Ok feyn fen dir!"

It jerked back its head. "YOL..."

A gout of fire shot across the Crest. I heard the stranger shout. Everything was lost in a blazing glare of heat, and I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the blast. When the fire finally died, I expected to find this mysterious stranger dead. But no; I felt disbelief flood through me as I realized that the woman was now nothing more than a standing, shimmering ghost.

She had become ethereal, just like the dragon had done. And when the spell broke, and she returned to Tamriel mortal once more, the dragon grunted and growled, "Hin mulaag los mal. Hio joor. Zu'u vujoor! Zu'u dovah!"

The woman's voice vibrated with an unearthly power. I watched, rooted to the spot in my own shock, as the woman took three bold steps forward towards the dragon.

"I will devour your soul," she said quietly.

And then she unleashed her inner Voice.

"FUS – RO DAH!"

The same force that had driven back the dragon earlier now returned, slamming once more into the dragon, who bellowed with anger and fell back a few steps. Immediately, I knew that the battle had returned, that the time for talking was now over. With ringing battlecries Njada and Farkas charged, weapons raised. I fell back, drawing an arrow.

"Aim for its eyes!" the woman called to me, her voice hoarser than ever. I glanced towards her to see that she was already holding her bow – a magnificent model, black and silver, with carvings of some kind of bird just above and below the hilt – and had a sleek black arrow already fastened to the bowstring. "They're the only part of the dragon that's completely unguarded!"

She released her arrow, and it shot into the dragon's throat. It let out a bellow of pain.

I did as the woman asked, too stunned to argue. I aimed carefully, but it was difficult to aim for two small beady eyes in a head that moved with the speed of a striking snake. The dragon was agile in its movements. It lashed out with lethal teeth, nearly catching Farkas and Njada several times, though the Companions slashed and hacked ferociously at the dragon's scaly head.

But the stranger was completely unfazed. She fired arrow after arrow, each blow seeming to cause great pain to the dragon.

"Cut its wings!" the stranger shouted to Njada. "That way it won't be able to take to the skies and flee!"

Njada wordlessly obeyed; the woman's voice thrummed with power. She immediately reangled her attacks, hacking furiously at the fleshy parts of the dragon's wings. Each time the dragon whirled around to attack her, Farkas would drive his greastword with all of his strength through the dragon's hide and draw blood, making it wince in pain and whip around to sweep the Companion away. But Farkas was learning quickly in the heat of battle. He stayed close to the dragon's wings whenever the tail lashed around, and leapt away before the dragon could bowl him over with a powerful thrust from its wing. Fortunately, the dragon seemed only capable of moving its tail, head or wing one at a time.

"Push forward; your confidence will make it hesitate!" the woman shouted, releasing another arrow, this time penetrating the dragon's skull. It screamed in agony, suddenly rearing up, its bloody, gashed wings tensing suddenly and letting out a bellow of pain.

As I fired another arrow, this time striking the dragon's paler underbelly, I heard the stranger laugh beside me; a cold, cruel laugh. "Your Overlord won't hear your pleas, coward. And he will not come. You have met your doom at last."

The dragon's orange gaze swept down, and fixed upon the advancing woman.

"Zu fen dir voth zin," it growled. It lifted its head. "Zu'u horvutah. Hio zu dovahkriid. Aal Alduin du hin sil ahrk dur hio, dovahkiin."

For a moment, the woman paused. And then her arrow flew.

Straight into the dragon's burning red eye, and into its dark and cold mind.

The dragon let out one final roar of agony, of acceptance of death, blood running down its face. Its death cry. I felt a shiver creep up my back as I recognized the cry, the same wail that I had heard plaintively echo from near the western watchtower over a year ago. And then it slumped, crumpling to the ground, its body slack and limp and completely relaxed.

The woman let out a wearisome sigh and sheathed her bow. "You three are sure lucky that I was passing by," she commented. Her voice was still hoarse.

Farkas and Njada were staring at her, not quite sure what to believe. I was pretty sure I was goggling at this strange woman myself. We had heard that word again – dovahkiin. The same word that the Greybeards had Shouted, after the dragon had been slain at the watchtower. It could only mean one thing...

And we were proved right.

The woman advanced casually towards the dragon, and almost at once, its body was suddenly encased in a shimmering gold light. A soft whispering filled the air – almost melodiously – and bright gold strands suddenly materialized beyond the dragon's dead body, curling around the woman.

And then its flesh simply began to...melt away. It burned, but without fire, and without smell, vanishing into ash that too disappeared. The exterior of the dragon simply melted away in a haze of orange and red, and brightly-coloured strands of blue and red and white and traced with gold suddenly emerged in a seething whirlwind from the burning dragon, all flowing into the woman, who seemed to relax, holding out her arms slightly, as though welcoming the strange energy that was flowing into her body.

And then the lights faded. The whispering died. And what was left of the dragon was...bones.

Just bones.

Bones that seemed to shimmer slightly with gold, a massive skeleton, lying sprawled amongst the other skeletons and corpses on the Crest. Bones where small clouds of ash still rose into the air. Bones held together by dead sinew.

For a moment, the woman was cloaked in an aura of energy. And then that, too, faded, and the woman sighed.

Njada was the first to break the spellbound silence.

"Are you...are you the one?"

The woman looked up quickly. "You mean Dragonborn?"

Njada nodded, looking awestruck. "You...you took its very soul...isn't that what the legends say the Dragonborn does?"

With a small nod, the woman agreed. "Yes, I am Dragonborn. And you would all be dead and piles of cinders if I hadn't heard this damned dragon making a hell of a noise when I was passing." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But there's no need to thank me. I did what I had to do, after all; I can't help being drawn to where the dragons are."

Her voice grew bitter. "And they can't help being drawn to wherever I am. Alduin seeks my death."

"Alduin..." I repeated the name slowly, in a mixture of awe and fear. "The World-Eater..." I glanced up at the woman, who identified herself as Dragonborn. "He _seeks_ your death? That means..."

"He's here, in Nirn," said the Dragonborn. She pulled a mask, lying unnoticed around her throat, up and over her face. It was as dark and as elegantly woven as her armour. "He's returned. The World-Eater has come."

I was startled. "The dragons..."

"They are all resurrected minions of Alduin," the Dragonborn explained. She slowly began to walk around the dragon skeleton, towards the strange stone wall where it had originally been on. "He knows a way to bring them back from their graves, to give them energy and strength once more, to do his bidding as he prepares to consume the soul of Nirn."

"That pit," said Farkas suddenly. "The one that seemed to have had something break _out_ of it, near the Crest..."

"A dragon grave," replied the Dragonborn. "Seems like Alduin's always one damn step ahead."

I noticed that one set of the strange carvings in the stone wall had suddenly lit up with a strange blue light. Totally indifferent, the Dragonborn continued walking towards it, her nightblack cape fluttering at her heels, even when strange wispy orange light began to surround her.

"It's your destiny to throw down the World-Eater, isn't it?" Njada asked, not moving from where she stood, though she sheathed her blood-splattered greatsword. "So the legend of the Dragonborn goes."

"I suppose it is, yes," replied the Dragonborn, not looking behind her. She paused before the strange blue rune, which suddenly burned with a fierce intensity, and the wispy lights surrounding her body grew stronger, enveloping her completely for the briefest of moments. And then the lights faded, as did the bluish shine from the rune, and the Dragonborn stepped back.

"I suppose we should say thank you," I said to her. "I guess that taking down dragons is your strong point. We weren't exactly close to an easy victory."

"You have to be good at killing dragons when they attack you everywhere you go," replied the Dragonborn casually. "Or else you'd be dead before you can even complete your destiny." She paused, and looked back at Farkas, Njada and I, even though we couldn't see any feature on her face, completely swathed in cowl and mask. "And that'll completely screw up how things are meant to be."

_I know the feeling,_ I thought ruefully. "Any tips in case we ever run into one of those overgrown lizards again?"

"Aim for their underbellies – the scales there are softer than the ones on their back and shoulders – and particularly their eyes," the Dragonborn listed off. "You threaten to blind a dragon and they'll be terrified; they prize sight above all other senses. Also, eyes are a direct link to their damned brains; shoot an arrow hard enough and in the right spot with an arrow and you could kill it instantly."

"Like the way you cleaned up that mess," said Njada.

The Dragonborn nodded. "Yes. Exactly."

She sharply whistled. A moment later, I heard hoofbeats thudding on the stony dirt, and a moment later a handsome dark silver stallion appeared. He was dappled grey; the same markings as Stormy had been coloured, I thought to myself, and his dark brown eyes rolled in a broad, shaggy head. Wordlessly the Dragonborn approached her horse and mounted smoothly.

"You ever considered joining the Companions?" I inquired, as the Dragonborn reined her mount around. "You'd be more than an honoured guest. And we'd be happy to share our own combat secrets with you, to assist you in further battles."

The Dragonborn paused, and looked back at me. I couldn't read her expression beneath her hood.

"You know," she said, "I have a feeling that you've already asked me before."

I frowned quizzically. "We've never met."

The Dragonborn softly laughed. "Not like this."

Then she drove her heels hard into the horse's side and the stallion exploded forward with a snort, galloping down the path from the Crest with a cloud of dust forming in their wake. And another moment later, the thundering hoofbeats slowly faded into silence, and I still hadn't figured out what she had meant, even though I felt the truth was right in front of me. At least, or had been.

* * *

DRACONIC TRANSLATIONS:

Sahlo joorre! Zu du hin slen! - _Weak mortals! I eat your flesh!_

Meyye! Zu'u neh sahlo! - _Fools! I am never weak!_

Hio hind wah krii zu, dovahkiin? - _You wish to kill me, Dragonborn?_

Mirmulnir, sizaan ahrk dilon? Ok feyn fen dir! - _Mirmulnir, lost and dead? His bane will die!_

Hin mulaag los mal. Hio joor. Zu'u vujoor! Zu'u dovah! - _Your strength is little. You are mortal. I am immortal! I am dragon!_

Zu fen dir voth zin. Zu'u horvutah. Hio zu dovahkriid. Aal Alduin du hin sil ahrk dur hio, dovahkiin - _I will die with honour. I am caught. You are my dragonslayer. May Alduin devour your soul and curse you, Dragonborn._

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**A/N: If you're wondering why Aela and Farkas didn't realize who the Dragonborn was the moment she spoke, you'll find out later in the soon-to-come chapters.**

**Please review! It's almost christmas time and your reviews make the best christmas presents of all to me :) :) :)  
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**Of course, christmas is the time of giving! Got a story you want me to R&R? PM me with the name of your story and I'll take a peek and read!  
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**(I'll try to get chapter forty-six, New Life Festival, out on Christmas day, or before, if I have time, and hopefully no later!)  
**


	44. Chapter 43 - Bloodmoon

Chapter Forty-Three

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart!"

Njada thrust out her mug full of mead, her voice ringing clearly through the halls of Jorrvaskr. And we all joined in on the chorus.

"I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!"

This time, Ria continued on the melody. The Imperial had quite taken to this song, and many other Nord bard tunes, and sang them so fluently that she had most certainly earned a place here at the table.

"With a Voice wielding power of the Ancient Nord Art!"

"Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!"

Skjor went on this time beside me, his deep voice booming a path.

"It's an end to the evil! of all Skyrim's foes!"

"Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes!"

And then Vilkas called out the end verse.

"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows...!"

"You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come!"

When the last echoes of the bard song melted into nothingness we all clapped each other, and then the normal contented chatter resumed. I turned to Skjor, beside me. "Good singing."

Skjor grinned. "I should've become a bard."

"What, and leave me all alone in Jorrvaskr? Who's going to give me my fair share of irritation?"

"Oh, true that." Skjor took a hearty swig of mead, and set his tankard down on the table. "Tell me again about the Dragonborn at Bonestrewn Crest."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I've already told you all I know about her." Nine days had passed since the events at Bonestrewn Crest and no news of the Dragonborn since. In fact, the only news during those nine days had been that recently some thief had broken into the Thalmor Embassy, released a prisoner, and made off with important documents. The matter was laughed over many times in Jorrvaskr.

"So you say that you couldn't see her face?" frowned Skjor.

"She had a heavy cowl up. She lowered this mask to Shout at the dragon, and pulled it up again the moment she absorbed its soul." I took a bite of bread, ad turned back to Skjor. "Not even sure what kind of armour that was. Hadn't seen it before."

"You thought it to be like woven shadows," Skjor commented.

"It was black as them," I replied. "And I was using a touch of poetic license there. Nothing can weave shadows. Shadows are...well, they're just shadows."

Skjor chuckled. "Well, whatever. You faced and survived a dragon. I'll grant you that, at least."

"Thanks."

Skjor cut himself some steak. "So, you planning on hunting tonight?"

"No. Tonight, I think I actually want to try and sleep." I frowned irritably, but I lowered my voice, even though there was such jovial noise at the table anyone around us probably wouldn't be able to hear. "It's been growing restless."

Skjor nodded, looking troubled. "Yes. I've felt it. It wants us to hunt much more."

I had been unable to rest, and had to hunt for many nights over and over. The wolf had howled constantly, craving the shadows of night, blood on the snow, the shine of the moon, and whispered in my mind so constantly about it that I was forced to release it and sate its hunger. For those few days, I had been terrified that I was going feral, though Skjor disagreed.

"When Orgmund was turning, the wolf began to associate with his day-to-day actions," he had explained. "And the wolf began to be the one making the decisions for him. He couldn't help it when he transformed, and was very close to starting to attack the surrounding farms of Whiterun Hold. You're just growing restless, and feeding the need to hunt, when you transform. The wolf isn't influencing your mind."

Well, I sure as hell hoped it wasn't. Because it was muttering all the time in my ear, and tonight, it was muttering particularly more urgently than before.

Gradually the people began to head off to bed. I was one of the first to leave, deciding to spend some time in my room asserting _my_ authority over the wolf, reminding it of its place in my body. When I was in my room and I had securely locked the door again, I changed out of my armour, lay down in bed, and closed my eyes.

Immediately the wolf protested, energy flowing through my limbs, chasing away any drowsiness. _Hunt! We must hunt tonight! Hunt in the name of our Father!_

_No,_ I growled mentally, and the wolf curled back its lips in a snarl. _We are not going anywhere tonight._

_Hunt! Hunt! We crave the shadows of the stars! The night of the moon! Give us flesh, give us blood, give us freedom!_ The wolf's voice grew more insistent, ringing in my mind, hissing and growling like an agitated sabre cat.

I didn't reply. I forced myself to relax again, though the beastblood was burning in my veins. I felt my skin prickle. Immediately I reached into the depths of my mind, found the wolf, and pushed it away from me as roughly as I could. With a howl of protest the wolf fell back into the shadows of my mind, though it was not done yet. Its cold gaze gleamed out from the shadows, watching me with a hunger in its gaze.

_We are staying here,_ I said to it. _I'm not going to make the change. I am going to rest._

_No, you won't,_ the wolf whispered maliciously. _For you do not know._

I ignored it, resisting the temptation to ask it what it meant. Gradually, I fell _into a dreamless slumber, where the wolf awakens and comes forward at last..._

My eyes flew open. Shit. Not again. Not _a moment too soon, at that, for the huntress to slip into the wilderness of Whiterun Hold, to hunt to her heart's content, forever and always..._

My skin prickled.

I'm not going to do it, I told myself. I'm not going _to transform, to transform, to take to the plains, to hunt in the name of the Huntsman, the Great Huntsman who watches over us all!_

I expected myself to change at any moment. Thank the Lord I had locked the door. But instead, all I heard was a sudden internal howl, a ringing howl that almost broke through from the echoes of my mind, to sound through Jorrvaskr.

_THE BLOODMOON HAS RISEN AGAIN!_

I sat up. I almost ran to my armour on the rack, throwing it on, pulling my arrow and bow, and sprinting out of my bedroom. Farkas and Vilkas, who had also gone to bed early, threw open the doors to their quarters, their pale drawn faces easily seen against the grey stone around them.

"You heard it, too?" Vilkas asked quietly.

"Yes," I breathed. My skin was prickling nonstop, the wolf panting with exhilaration, desiring nothing more than to come forward. The Bloodmoon...had it truly risen? At a dead run I ran up to the upper landing, with the twins just behind me.

As we emerged into the upper landing I saw Skjor and Kodlak were already there, agitation evident in their gaze.

"You heard it as well," Skjor said, panic in his voice. "The Bloodmoon..."

Thank goodness there were no whelps around.

"It can't have risen," I croaked, my throat closing up. "That means that Hircine has begun the Great Hunt!"

"No." Kodlak's voice was taut and grim. "That was back in the Third Era. Now, it means that Hircine wants death. That one of His Hounds must die."

We headed outdoors, almost at once to get the biggest shock of our lives.

The townspeople were gathered outside, even though it must have been near midnight by now. The guards were exclaiming in bewilderment and fear, pointing up at the sky. Whispers of the Nerevarine and werewolves and Hircine rang up around the gathered people, some gazing at Secunda in terror, others in awe and amazement.

As for us, the Companions, we felt nothing but terror.

Secunda had turned red as blood. It glowed, dark crimson, against the black sky, outlined against Masser, who glowed just behind it. And within us, the wolves howled, tilting back angular heads and crying undying loyalty to their lord.

"Shit," whispered Skjor.

"That is why our wolves have been restless of late," murmured Kodlak, his voice only audible to our attuned ears. "They have known, for a while, the Bloodmoon will rise. They have, in that time, been desperate to appease Hircine, to ensure their safety when the Bloodmoon once again rises over Tamriel."

I glanced at Kodlak. I could see his fear, and his determination.

"What does the rising of the Bloodmoon mean?" I asked him.

Kodlak frowned. "It means that one of Hircine's Hounds have displeased him. And that this werewolf must be put to an end, so Hircine may claim his spirit for the Hunting Grounds."

_Oh, no._ I knew that Kodlak had given up his transformations, was looking for a way to cure himself, to remove the blessing of great strength and fine hunting lain upon him. I had warned Kodlak not to anger Hircine. Was the Bloodmoon a result of his stubbornness?

Then I heard Farkas give a tiny growl nearby. I glanced towards the twins, to see Farkas's eyes dark with anxiety, Vilkas almost stiffened with fear. They were trying to keep their feelings under control. In that moment on looking at them, wondering if they were all right or not, I realized. They had been trying to give up their transformations, too. They didn't want the Beastblood anymore. They had been defying Hircine.

But what if the Bloodmoon was for me?

I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out of me at this.

Hircine, my Father, had chosen me to do a task. For fourteen years I had searched. And I had uncovered nothing. Panjor had disappeared, the Silver Hand melting into somewhat nonexistence, biding their time, waiting for us to slip so they could trap and kill us. Had fourteen years been too long for a Daedric Prince to wait? Was Hircine finally fed up with my attempts, and decided to choose another to end the task, and to remove me, a bothersome obstacle, along the way?

My hand slowly went up to the amulet slung at my throat. My fingers traced the detailed wolf's head carving that rested against my chest. I hadn't dared to speak to Hircine, not since he returned me to my body, all those years ago. I was fearful of him, knowing I had not completed the task I had been chosen to do. But this, the Bloodmoon...I had to know.

I gripped the amulet in my hand, and I closed my eyes, and as time slowed around me, I entered the Communal.

But when I opened my eyes, I found that I seemed to be in a different place. It wasn't quite the Communal, and nor was it Skyrim. Yet...I seemed to be standing in Whiterun, my place beside Skjor and Farkas still occupied. But they all seemed to be frozen, and coloured little more than shadows.

I looked forward. Everything seemed to stand still. The flames, the guardsmen, the townspeople. But the shimmering light of the Bloodmoon continued to glow, burning into my mind, the dark, red scarlet of freshly-drawn blood. Whiterun was hardly outlined, everything just a mass, varying shades of dim shadows with flickering life essences, and everything was bathed in a dark burgundy wash.

Hircine's raw voice echoed in my mind.

_You stand before the Bloodmoon,_ he murmured, _and you doubt. I can taste your fear, daughter._

"Why does it rise?" I asked hesitantly.

Hircine smiled. I could see him smiling so clearly in my mind.

_One of my minions has displeased me,_ he whispered. _One of my children indeed. And my eyes have also turned to the Companions._

Fear shot through me.

"You seek my death, Lord?"

Hircine suddenly laughed, though my apprehension only grew.

_What use would that be to me, daughter?_ He said. _You still have a chore which needs to be fulfilled. I did not send you back idly, you know. You have a great debt to be paid to me, and it will only be irksome for the pair of us if I call your soul to me before the debt has been fully repaid._

Relief washed over me, strong as water. I could not hide my emotions. Not here, in this strange...half-Communal. And my mind suddenly flashed back, to what Hircine had said earlier. Was there something strange about the way he had said it?

Yes! "Your eyes also turned to the Companions? You mean the Bloodmoon hasn't risen because of the Companions in the first place?"

_No, child. I am glad that you have worked this out._

"But then, who has displeased you, Lord?"

Hircine let out a soft growl, and to me, it sounded as if twenty bears were snarling.

_Thieves deserve to die,_ he said in a voice cold as ice. _But you need not worry about this particular matter, daughter. My champion is taking care of the thief. It is rather ironic._

I didn't ask why.

_But the Bloodmoon shines its light over Jorrvaskr also,_ Hircine continued. _But not on a Companion who resides there._

Almost immediately, I seemed to understand. Perhaps Hircine planted the dark suspicion in my mind already, and now had muttered the words to bring the idea surfacing to the front of my mind.

"You mean Orgmund, don't you, Lord?"

Above me, the Bloodmoon suddenly turned a blazing red.

_Yes, child. I am glad to see that you are more intelligent than the majority of my chosen,_ said Hircine. _Orgmund's power was growing, daughter. He was very strong, and very devoted to me. For my own amusement, I took away his control over the wolf, and now he hunts wild and free, and has done so for well over fourteen years. Now, I call his spirit to the Hunting Grounds._

My breath caught in my throat.

"You want us to kill him?"

_Indeed. I find no other fitting to slay a rogue werewolf than my Hounds who still have their heads._

"But..." the excuse formed itself on my tongue, but I didn't want to pretend I didn't know. "...Orgmund disappeared from the Companions long ago, as I'm sure you're aware of, Lord. We have not found him."

_Daughter, you are more than capable of finding tracks,_ said Hircine, and his voice was reproving. _You could have found Orgmund long ago, if you had set your mind to it. But, of course, I gave you another task – which I note you have still not succeeded in doing._

"I have hunted day and night for him, Lord," I said earnestly. "I have searched the depths of Skyrim for the betrayer Panjor."

Hircine scowled. Though I could not see his face, I could feel his anger.

_Has it once crossed your mind that the hunter could not be in Skyrim? _Hircine spat. _Your vengeance should be fuel enough to help you in finding the Silver Hand. They are cowards. They run, and they hide, and they cover their tracks so even the best of hunters cannot find them. But you, daughter, are my chosen for this. You have my blessings. Use them to your advantage against the Silver Hand, who are weak and alone. You have my blessings of the hunt upon you. You have the power of the Beastblood to protect you. And you have my amulet to guide you._

I nodded. "Yes, Lord. I will try harder."

_Good. You will find Orgmund the wild one in a place known as Robber's Gorge – not very far away from your own little hometown, I believe. He will lurk there only for a short time, so I advise you in the day's length it takes for the traces of the Bloodmoon to be washed clean from Tamriel once more, journey to the Gorge and finish him before he has a chance to flee._

"Yes, Lord."

_And do not think of returning to the Communal until both tasks are done._

The Bloodmoon glowed for a moment longer. I closed my eyes.

The sounds immediately returned around me, and I opened them, to find myself back in Whiterun, to find that no time had passed whatsoever, though Skjor turned quickly to me.

"Did you – ?"

"Yes," I replied softly.

Skjor frowned. "What did he say?"

"Orgmund. We have to kill him."

Kodlak turned quickly to me. "What?"

"It's our Lord's desire." I pulled the bow down from my shoulders, holding the hilt determinedly, as though expecting to see him amongst the gathered townsfolk, gathered around the dead Gildergreen, staring up at the Bloodmoon. "And we must fulfill it. Orgmund has to die. He's in Robber's Gorge."

Kodlak narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

"The Bloodmoon rose for a reason," muttered Farkas, turning to me. He had overheard, undoubtedly. "I suppose if Hircine wants us to kill Orgmund..." he fell away, into an uncomfortable silence.

"If Orgmund's death is Hircine's desire, it is our duty to fulfill it," said Skjor determinedly. He turned to me. "I will be at your side as we hunt down the feral werewolf. We can free Orgmund into the Hunting Grounds. He can hunt alongside Taija and Samiith at last."

He took my hand in his. "We hunt together."

I nodded. "We hunt together."

And above us, the light of the Bloodmoon began to fade, as though at last, Hircine was satisfied.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, this is a short chapter, but it just felt right to write a short chapter for the Bloodmoon. Short and sweet, I think. So, Orgmund's going to become the hunted, eh?**** Next time: Aela and Skjor go werewolf-hunting, and head down to Robber's Gorge.  
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**By the way, the Communal _is_ a place which I invented randomly myself. I don't think it actually exists in-game.  
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**Please R&R! Yay, 10 days till Christmas (at least in the southern hemisphere :)  
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	45. Chapter 44 - Robber's Gorge

Chapter Forty-Four

I remembered seeing Orgmund for the first time. A great, hulking brute of a man, clad in what I now know to be Orcish armour, standing and sternly telling off the two restless whelps who had brawled. I had not thought much of him at first, and he had not thought much of me. It was incredible how quickly things could change, given time, and a lot of encouragement.

And then Orgmund had become my Shield-Brother. When I struck him with the silver arrow, I heard his cry of pain. At first, I had been indignant. When I heard his agonized yells now, I would fear for him, as he would fear for me.

He had held me in great respect. I was Hircine's daughter of the moon. I was his chosen, blessed over and over by our Lord. And I had taken so well to the beastblood bestowed upon me. My transformations had been one of the smoothest, but was nonetheless wild. Together, numerous times, he and I had entered places and returned alive and well. We had entered Kagrenzel. We had cleared out beast dens and bandit warrens together.

I had never expected that I was to be the one to end his life in the end.

But not in the same way he had tried to end mine.

Or was it?

When Orgmund had turned feral, he had demanded my death. Said that Hircine had desired a spirit in the Hunting Grounds. He had tried to kill me, and I had uttered only four words.

"How could you, Orgmund?"

And then I had seen his eyes suddenly change. And Orgmund spoke one last time to me. Whispering his sorrow. That he could not defy Hircine. And then he had sacrificed the last of his human strength for me, dragging away the wolf from my fallen body before he could tear out my throat and spill my blood. And then, for fourteen years, he had run.

Now, I was going to end his running. I was going to end his life.

I was going to kill my Shield-Brother.

Or perhaps he was my Shield-Brother, once. He was not now. He was a feral werewolf, who only mindlessly hunted for Hircine. Who had prowled the depths of Skyrim for fourteen years a wolf. Journeying all across Tamriel, I guessed, avoiding attracting our attention wherever it was possible.

But Hircine had called to him. The Bloodmoon had risen. And we had been given one more chance.

To honour our Father, I had to grasp this chance. And I had to end Orgmund's life.

Though I would regret this task, I would not be doing it alone. Skjor walked beside me. We had journeyed together as soon as Secunda glowed white. We had run across the Hold, on our own two legs, not wishing to exhaust our inner beasts too much. We would need them to be unleashed when we faced Orgmund. Fourteen years as a werewolf would have enhanced his strength majorly.

But I had grown and adapted to this wolf. I was powerful in the ways of the beast, as was Skjor. Particularly Skjor. We would bring him down together, and set his spirit free from Mundus at last.

* * *

Robber's Gorge was a place known for its bandits. They would guard the road from Rorikstead to Dragon Bridge. They ambushed caravans and travellers and killed mercenaries. A large group of them – twenty or more, so I had heard – resided at the Gorge.

I expected to fight when Skjor and I headed down the road. By now it was dusk, and a pale light flickered from the sky, from the stars and the moons, illuminating Skyrim. It was a perfect night of hunting. And I knew we didn't have much time left. Orgmund soon would leave, if we didn't reach him first.

I felt as if he were watching me. Watching me with hunger in his senseless bronze eyes, from the shadows. But I heard, and smelt, nothing but the scent and sounds of the wilds. I heard crickets chirp a strange, cheeping melody in the long grass, wet with dewdrops. I smelt the tang from the river that flowed nearby, heading northward towards the Sea of Ghosts, flowing beneath the stone bridge that led to the outline of the bandit camp.

My foot knocked against something. An arrow lay at my feet. A chip mark on the cobblestone nearby told me that it had been the result of a misaimed shot.

"There's been fighting," muttered Skjor.

I nodded. It was too much to hope for, that Orgmund had made his way here undetected. And that's when the smell of blood hit me.

Powerful. Raw. Fresh.

The stench of death, however, was far stronger.

The wolf within me growled a warning. My eyes sought out the splashes of blood that lay streaked over the bridge. Skjor and I slowed our footsteps as we began to slowly walk over the river, towards the camp. There was blood everywhere, I could see and I could smell.

And that's when I saw the carnage.

Mangled, completely unrecognizable corpses. Chunks of torn and uneaten limb and flesh. Before, this sight would have sickened me. Now, it only made me furious. The deep clawed gash marks in the torn-apart bodies of the dead bandits could only have come from one animal.

One beast.

The beast that we had been tasked to hunt.

And I had been tasked to kill.

As though he had been summoned, I saw him emerge, on one of the platforms that rose above the road. The platform that had a wood bridge attached, leading over the road and to the next platform, perched upon a mound of rock, where archers could stand and shoot down. The beast was huge, much bigger than I could have possibly remembered him to be. He stood upon the platform, which looked too small, too delicate for him, and yet a perfect place for him to stand and look down with burning bronze eyes.

The wind skated across the Hold, tossing back the thick fur on his shoulders, around his face, scarred with a lifetime of fighting in the ways of the beast. And I looked calmly back into his eyes.

Into the beast's eyes.

Because they were not Orgmund's. And yet...it was.

Orgmund drew back his lips to reveal his long fangs, reddened from blood, and growled in a voice as deep and as menacing as thunder, _Look what we have here. Once-friends, coming to claim my life?_

"Coming to release you," I said quietly.

_I will not be released, _growled Orgmund, his eyes glinting brighter. _I have hunted in the wilds of Tamriel and I have relished the freedom. I do not care for you or for the fetched Companions anymore. I only care for the hunt and the hunger._

No. Don't listen to him. Don't believe him. It was the wolf within him speaking, not Orgmund. His voice had died away long ago. He had died long ago. But his spirit was trapped.

Beside me, Skjor growled, though he was not yet transformed. "No, Orgmund, you do not. You care for us. Deep in your heart, through the coldness and darkness of the spurned and lost werewolf, I know that you're still there, Orgmund. You have to break through, you have to remind the wolf of your power over it."

Orgmund let out a hoarse, harking bark. _He has no power over me anymore, you fool. I am released forever. I hunt forever in the name of Hircine. _Burning bronze eyes turned back to me. _You may be Hircine's chosen one, but I am his wild one. I am the one who I spill the most blood for. I am the one who feasts always upon the flesh of the fallen. What better way to serve my Lord as a beast? As a wild animal?_

"Because you have killed people," I said coldly. "And you have broken the pack laws."

_The pack laws!_ roared Orgmund. _What foolish nonsense! The pack abides by no laws in the wild. The pack laws are to kill and to feed. It does not matter who we kill. What matters is the sating of our Bloodlust, and serving Hircine with every scrap of strength and every wisp of soul in our bodies._

"You're wrong," said Skjor quietly. "The pack laws keep our secret safe."

Orgmund growled. _We should be feared, not respected through a false alias. I will reveal the truth to the world, when I am done with you. You, my brother and sister of the wilds, have chosen to serve Hircine in a way that is not fitting for our kind. And for your insolence to the ways of the wild, you will die. And you will be devoured._

The wolf within me spoke.

_Not before you._

And then I felt the change coming over me, as swiftly and as powerfully as it had first done. Only this time, I kept my head. I threw my quiver and my bow aside. Above my rapidly mutating form, Orgmund tilted back his head and howled a cry to the sky, a cry of death and of cold menace. And then Orgmund's eyes fell to me, and I lifted my grizzled head, curling back my own lips, and let out a monstrous roar that echoed around us. Nearby me, I could hear Skjor's growls, as he released his own wolf.

Orgmund hurled himself off the side of the Gorge. I threw myself forward, and whipped around, my claws ready, as the feral werewolf landed with a loud _thud_ on the cobblestone, standing between me and Skjor. Now I really appreciated Orgmund's size. Holy Mother of God. He really was enormous. Dismay for a moment clouded my lust-driven senses. Would I even be able to defeat him?

Orgmund snarled, and leapt at me, massive claws aimed for my heart. I let myself fall backwards, but pushing up with my hind paws at the same time. I pushed Orgmund, carrying his blow on, so he fell on stone instead of on me. Swiftly he rolled, transferring the force of his attack in that motion, was on his legs in an instant, and prowling back towards me, facing both me and Skjor.

I could hear my pack brother growl beside me.

_Let us hunt._

With a roar, Orgmund leapt forward. I sprang aside, raking my claws as hard as I could through Orgmund's thick fur. Skjor turned, his jaws closing on Orgmund's tail, and with all his strength, heaved the massive wolf backwards. Orgmund howled, spun around, and lashed out with his claws, cutting deep wounds in Skjor's cheek. Skjor howled with pain as his dark burgundy blood spilled over his cheek and jaws.

Fury unlike anything I had ever known shot through me at seeing my lover wounded and momentarily helpless. Orgmund lunged at the same time as I. I slammed into Orgmund's body, throwing the werewolf away from where Skjor crouched, and let out a furious snarl.

Orgmund growled, harking menacingly, as he stood up and crouched, eyeing me, wondering where the best place was to strike. I snarled in response, flattening my ears. I heard Skjor howl behind me. Beneath us, the water ran faster, as though it were exhilarated by the events happening on the bridge. Then Orgmund leapt again. I rose up to meet him, bracing myself, and feeling his weight slam against me. But his strength exceeded my own and I was knocked backward. Instantly Orgmund was on top of me, but I pushed up with my newfound strength, preventing his wild, slavering jaws to close around my throat.

_Leave the pack sister alone, traitor!_ The next thing, Skjor had lunged at Orgmund, clawing through his thick, matted black fur as hard as he could, and blood splashed over my own dark fur. Orgmund let out a roar of anger, drawing back from me, and lashing out at Skjor hard. But Skjor simply leapt back, avoiding the blow, letting out a puppylike bark of laughter. _Come and get me, if you believe yourself worthy enough to fight me._

Orgmund roared. _I am MORE than worthy!_ Instantly he had leapt off me, claws going for Skjor. He snarled, rising up on his hind paws, pushing forwards. They collided head-on and their claws slashed through the air. Their wild barking and snarling as they savagely fought, jaws snapping at each other's throats, claws raking through each other's fur, was the only thing I could hear.

I pushed myself back to my paws, timed my attack, and then leapt. Some wild sense, some exhilarated sense, was driving me forward, urging me to attack, to hurt as much as possible. I seized Orgmund's arm as tightly as I could, driving my fangs in deep, and then jerking my head away, drawing blood. Orgmund howled with pain, and Skjor shoved forward roughly. His paws knocked against the edge of the bridge, but this seemed to suddenly stimulate him, because before I could bite him again and draw blood, Orgmund leapt forward, slamming into Skjor. With frightening strength, he slashed his claws through Skjor's fur, drawing blood, and closed his jaws tightly around Skjor's foreleg. My pack brother howled in pain.

I leapt at Orgmund, the wild sense burning in me, as powerfully as that instinct to survive. If not stronger. With a scream of wordless rage, of fury, I forgot myself. Everything vanished in a flash of blood red. The wolf's voice suddenly clouded my thoughts. And I felt myself fading, and yet I was dimly aware that my arms were still moving, my claws were still slashing, my jaws still closing on flesh and tearing. The wolf was bellowing, its roars ringing in my head. _Die! You will die! You will die for daring to touch him!_

I heard a howl of pain, and in a flash, my consciousness returned. I found myself standing near Orgmund, who was covered in blood, his fur torn and blood welling from his wounds, rage glittering in his eyes as he looked upon me, and a snarl thrumming in my throat.

Feral. For a moment, for the briefest of moments...I had turned feral.

Because I had seen Skjor in pain. Because I had seen my love in pain. And the anger was only growing inside of me. I was forgetting who I was. Why I was doing this. All I knew was that this wolf who had dared hurt Skjor so badly was going to die.

The feral werewolf growled. _At last, you are a worthy challenge!_

He leapt. I dodged. Orgmund's claws raked through my fur and flesh but I didn't feel the pain that should have come. Instead I lunged at Orgmund. I drove my claws as hard as I could through his fur, snarling in satisfaction when I felt the skin tear, when I felt warm, delightfully warm blood gush out from the cuts and over my fingers and wrists. Orgmund gasped, his eyes widening for a moment in great pain.

I didn't slow. I didn't stop to think. I threw myself at Orgmund. I knocked him to the ground, and then I was on top of him, and my jaws found his throat.

It should have ended there. I should have won. He should have died.

But none of those things happened.

My jaws had closed around Orgmund's throat when his arm came around. Huge, six-inch claws drove through my fur, and tore my throat.

My eyes widened. Agony gripped me. I released my grip on Orgmund and fell back with a howl of pain, feeling my blood flow almost endlessly from the wounds at my neck. I heard Skjor roar in anger, saw him bound past me, but in a flash Orgmund was back on his paws, and though he was wheezing from my grip on his throat, as I tried to suffocate him, he fought, his strength great. He pushed back against Skjor, making him fall. With a thrusting movement, Orgmund threw Skjor across the bridge, and I heard his yelp of pain as he landed heavily on the cobblestone.

And then his bronze eyes turned to me. I raised my head and growled, though I swore that darkness was ready to greet me the moment the fight was over. He had struck me a deathly blow.

Determination flooded through me. And so I would strike him one also.

Orgmund lunged, ready to finish it. And so was I. In that moment, the survival instinct flared. It seared through my body, scorching my blood, burning away any pain that I was feeling. I twisted sharply, avoiding the lethal claws that shot through the air towards my chest and frantically beating heart. And I threw all the remaining scraps of my strength at Orgmund, knocking the werewolf off balance. As he spun around, ready to attack, my claws drove down.

Every ounce of determination and anger and love for Skjor was in that blow. Though I did not wear the amulet, I knew that my Father would grant me this desire.

And it was granted.

My claws tore down.

Straight through the flesh.

From the top of Orgmund's throat, down to his gut, I carved the mortal wound.

I saw his eyes widen in shock.

I saw him take a step back, all thoughts of attack gone.

I saw him look down as his own lifeblood pooled.

I saw him tremble.

I saw him collapse.

I watched him fall.

And I knew that it was over. I knew that I had done this task. But it was not quite over. Not yet.

I slowly walked forward. I dropped onto all fours, and approached where Orgmund lay, gasping, whimpering, whining like a lost puppy. His lifeblood spilled around him from the savage wound that I had dealt and delivered. And his bronze eyes glowed, his paws pressing in vain against his throat, in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

And then his gaze met mine.

And I remembered who I was.

I remembered who I had just killed.

Orgmund. The man who I once loved as a Shield-Brother. Who I had respected. Who I had fought beside. I saw the man who had devoted his body and soul to Hircine. Even though I could not hear his voice, and I could not see him, I could feel Orgmund's presence break through the feral chains that bound this werewolf to Mundus.

And I knew by the recognition in his eyes that he remembered, too. He knew who his foe had been. Who had killed him. And why. He had seen the monster he had become. In those countless years that his wolf had run wild across Tamriel, killing, slaughtering endlessly, to sate his ever growing Bloodlust, Orgmund had lain in the heart of the wolf, unable to do anything. Now, he came forward, overpowering the wolf.

He spoke. A rasping, shuddering wolf's growl of a voice, the voice still of the beast.

_Aela?_

It was a question. Something which he needed to confirm, to believe. That it was truly me. That I had finally released him.

"How could you, Orgmund?" I repeated these words, the words I had uttered to him over fourteen years ago, when he had made the final change. And I spoke these words through my own voice, as I had done when I was sure that he was going to kill me. When, upon hearing my voice, Orgmund had grasped his wolf and dragged it away from the Companions, sparing my life.

Orgmund didn't respond. He couldn't respond. His movements began to grow relaxed. His eyes never left mine.

And for the briefest of moments, I saw Orgmund again. I saw him through the skin of the wolf, and I remembered his gaze. His eyes, cool and hard most of the time, but warm and friendly when he was feeling that way towards the others in Jorrvaskr, seemed to break through the bronze. Even though some part of me told me that I couldn't really see him. It was just nostalgia, clouding my vision. I didn't see the monstrous beast who had for fourteen years terrorized the land of Skyrim and all other provinces in Tamriel.

I had released Orgmund.

And he knew this.

_Thank you,_ I heard him whisper, and the wolf...it sounded less savage. It sounded...happy. Rejoicing. That it had been broken from its chains of Bloodlust. That it would never claim another living innocent again.

Orgmund never moved again.

And now that he was gone, that one of my tasks was finally done, I could finally worry about myself. I took a step back, and sank to my side when I realized that my legs and arms refused to hold me up. I suddenly felt very heavy. Or perhaps it was because I was too weak. Gently, I sank onto my side with a soft moan, as the pain of my torn throat began to go to my head.

I heard pawsteps thud nearby. I knew that Skjor was approaching me, and that he knelt down beside me, eye bright with worry.

"Aela..." He pushed his snout into my cheek.

I closed my eyes, and tried to speak, and realized that I couldn't.

"I'll find something to help you, I promise," Skjor whimpered. He gently drew away from me, and hared towards the bandit camp.

But I knew that I was going to survive. I would pull through this wound without the help of a Daedric Prince. Because Skjor was there, and he loved me, and I loved him. Because I knew that I had not failed Hircine. That I had done as he had asked. And that Orgmund was finally free.

I watched as the faintest silver outline of a wolf suddenly emerged from the fallen. It paused, and looked at me. It was an alpine wolf; hardy, stocky, strong. With bright eyes, it watched me, and for a moment, I wondered if it was going to speak.

But wolves cannot speak. Instead, it simply turned, and bounded across the bridge. Then, it leapt up into the air, and dissipated into soft, bluish smoke, which spiraled up and towards the stars.

And I knew that Orgmund was going to the Hunting Grounds. That he was going to be with Taija and Samiith and Leiknir again.

My heart warmed, knowing that one day, I was going to join them.

Both Skjor and I would go and join them.

And we would forever hunt as a pack for eternity.

* * *

**A/N: Farewell, Orgmund :(**

**Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and supported me in my writing so far. It feels really good to write out to you guys. Keep those reviews coming in! :D**

**Next time; life seems to be flooding back into the Gildergreen. How is this possible? And _what_ are all those noises on Throat of the World? I have a feeling that New Life Festival will be released many days before Christmas. Hopefully, Part Four will be finished before then. In the meantime, hang around; holidays now, I can devote days to writing, and I'll have at least a chapter done up a day**


	46. Chapter 45 - Revival

**A/N: Hi again! Here is chapter forty-five: let's get straight into it!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

I pushed open the door to the Bannered Mare, and the sound within hit me full in the face as I entered. But nobody really took notice of me. I was, after all, a regular visitor, and all they really cared about was making sure the mead stayed in the bottles until they drank it.

The only one who did look my way was Uthgerd. She sat in a lonely corner, trying to drink herself to Oblivion, and cast me a glare as I made my way over to the counter.

My teeth clenched, but I said nothing her way. She had told us over and over again it was an accident, but an accident shouldn't claim lives. Killing a boy was for the Dark Brotherhood to do, not for a new blood-hopeful. I turned my gaze away from Uthgerd, ignoring the thrumming of howls in my ears, and caught Hulda's attention by dumping my latest pickings on the counter.

"Ah, some more meat for me, dear?" Hulda, looking more lined, came over.

"Not venison," I replied. "I set my snares the other day and this is what I got."

Three rabbits and four pheasants ought to keep her happy for a night. Hulda certainly looked happy as she drew the magnificent limp pheasants from the sack and inspected them.

"The feathers are in remarkably good condition," Hulda remarked. "You certainly are good at what you do, Huntress. You've been my most effective supplier by far."

"How much for the pelts?" I asked.

"Hmm...I'll give you seventy for the rabbits, and eighty for the pheasants," Hulda said, ducking down behind the counter for a moment and returning with said money. "So, how is life going with the Companions so far?" she asked, as I carefully tipped the coins into my money pouch at my hip.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up.

"You know...how are things faring in Jorrvaskr so far?" Hulda narrowed her eyes slightly. "It's been about two months since the Bloodmoon rose. And a crazy two months onward. Have you seen those warriors from Hammerfell before they went back off to the sands?"

I nodded. "For a moment, when they first entered Whiterun, I thought they were Lemaat and Myllasa, the garbs were just the same, as were the scimitars."

Hulda chuckled. "Well, bad luck for Myllasa, then. They were looking for a woman, weren't they?"

I frowned. The strange warriors had turned up sometime in late Sun's Dusk, only a week or two ago now, and tried to search Whiterun for some odd Redguard woman called Iman. And not long after the warriors had disappeared, Saadia from the Bannered Mare had apparently vanished. Some say that she had been last seen with a curious brown-haired woman, and that she, too, had disappeared from Whiterun.

"I think so," I replied carefully. "Amren didn't look too pleased, though, when they started strutting around through Skyrim. 'I came to Skyrim to avoid the damned shadows of my past.' Of course, you should've seen his face when he found out his wife Saffir had been, ah, 'interrogated'."

Hulda looked surprised. "Oh no, they didn't, did they?"

"Yeah. Their kid was ready to punch the lights out of anything that moved."

Hulda chuckled. "Braith's always been too aggressive for her own good. But she could become a good warrior, like her father, don't you think?"

"If she swallows her pride long enough to listen," I said, with a chuckle of my own. Braith had recently gone around declaring to everyone – Lars Battle-Born, the citizens, and the town guards – that she was not afraid of anything nor anyone. I wonder what she'd say if she saw a werewolf or a dragon.

"Amren's a pretty good warrior as well," commented Hulda casually. "Ever thought of him joining the Companions?"

Uthgerd shot me a dirty look, and I resisted the urge to go over to her and _quell the Bloodlust, feast on her flesh, the traitor must die!_

No. You're not coming out. Shut up.

"Not really," I said. "These are dangerous times, what with the dragons about and all."

Hulda smiled. "Speaking of which, I was wondering about the Dragonborn."

I shrugged. "First and last times I saw her, I was fighting for my life in Bonestrewn Crest with Farkas and Njada. The problem is, all I know is that she's a Nord. She was wearing some kind of strange armour, and I couldn't see her face."

"Damn. I wish we knew exactly _who_ she was," said Hulda, with a small sigh. "Mikael was thinking of writing a song in honour of her deeds to Skyrim."

"Slaying dragons? Could make for a pretty good song..." Already I was contemplating how it would sound up in Jorrvaskr.

"The guards all seem to know who, though," frowned Hulda. "At least, the ones who survived the watchtower attack. But they won't say. They just tap their helmets in a sort of knowing way and then get on with their duties."

"Speaking of which, I really should get back to my duties." I stepped back from the counter. "Nice meeting you again, Hulda. Same as usual, next time I go out?"

"Same as usual, but try and go for some more rabbit, I think, so I can make stew," Hulda replied.

I left the Bannered Mare, heading out into Whiterun. Passing by Fralia Gray-Mane, I saw her give me a warm smile and invite me to take a look at her wares.

I did so. "So, how are things?" I asked as casually as I could manage.

"Wonderous!" Fralia's beam widened, but she cautiously lowered her voice. "My son was rescued."

I looked up in surprise. "He was?"

Fralia nodded. "A stranger kindly offered to help us out. She went and rescued my son from the accursed Thalmor!" Her eyes lit up. "And don't you see? It's just what Olava foretold, all those years ago! She said that he would be saved, and now he's safe in the ranks of the Stormcloaks, along with my other son, Avulstein. Ooh, the warrior was strong, she seemed to have this burning resentment of the Thalmor..."

I didn't listen to the rest, as my mind was elsewere. The prophecy...Olava's prophecy...I had given it to Eorlund up at the Skyforge but I had barely given a thought to my own in these passing months.

Whenever I could, since Orgmund's release, I had journeyed to all the Holds in Skyrim, and asked for any information that regarded werewolf hunters, and their locations, but I had uncovered next to nothing. All that I knew was that somewhere around Gallows Rock, some Silver Hand had been sighted, but each time I had gone there, running fast as the wind, I had seen nobody there.

_They are teasing me. They just have to be._

Panjor. My hands, if they weren't on the counter, would have clenched into fists at even the internal mention of that accursed name. Soon I would find him, and soon I would kill him. I would kill him for Hircine's sake.

"...and then the woman came home, and gave me Thorald's message, and I know that my son is now safe beneath Ulfric's banner," finished Fralia. Her eyes were bright, and fixed upon me; she was clearly expecting me to say something.

"Er...that's wonderful," I said, nodding to enthuse the point.

Fralia looked very contented. "But you'd best not let the Battle-Borns know," she whispered with a sly wink. "Ooh, they were in on my son's capture, refused to tell me, a grieving mother! The bastards," she muttered for a moment under her breath, before raising her voice into its low murmur again. "But the stranger who helped us was very accomplished. She slipped into the Battle-Borns' home, snuck the log from that damned Thalmor woman, came back again without a hitch." She grinned wickedly. "The Battle-Borns were making quite the fuss earlier on, and they can't even tell the guards without them being hauled up in front of our Balgruuf for an explanation."

"And I think everyone's had enough of thieves," I added. "The damned Guild's been causing so much trouble over this passing year, and Balgruuf hauls Kodlak into Dragonsreach every odd week, and rants at him to do something."

Fralia tutted and shook her head. "Ah, he's just concerned for the people, dear, as he is always," she said, with a touch of pride to her voice. "Well now, I'd best not keep you, Companion. Do come and see me again, it's always quite a relief to talk to someone who doesn't hiss nasty comments or demands a lower price for merchandise once in a while."

I nodded, flashed her a small smile, and then headed on my way, climbing up the steps to Jorrvaskr.

Almost at once to see the High Priestess of Kynareth, Danica Pure-Spring, kneeling beside the dead Gildergreen, with a large group of excited gathered guards and townspeople nearby.

I headed over to her, intrigued. "What's going on, Priestess?"

Danica looked up, and her weathered face, I saw, was alight with happiness.

"The Gildergreen will soon awaken," she said.

Beside her was a small platter, and it was filled with a kind of creamy white sap. I frowned, not quite getting it, and said, "What do you mean?"

"The Gildergreen fell into slumber many years ago," Danica explained, and I saw sorrow flash in her eyes. She had always cared very deeply for this tree. "It wasn't dead for all this time, but its radiance and power fell into a dormant rest. The sap from its mother, the Eldergleam, will awaken her at last!"

I was astonished. I had heard tales of the Eldergleam, the oldest living thing in all of Tamriel, which lay in a secluded cavern somewhere in the depths of Skyrim. Mighty spriggans and earth-mothers guarded the supposedly huge tree. It was thought to be impossible to reach the upper platform, as huge roots twisted across the path.

"Who went and brought the sap?" I asked.

"Ah, a bold young adventurer kindly offered to help me," Danica smiled. "Bless her noble heart! She found Nettlebane from the filthy Hagravens and travelled to the grove, and brought me back the sap of the Gildergreen's mother."

She dipped her fingers into the strange, white sap that rested beside her. "Now we will awaken our dormant tree from her sleep, and hear Kynareth's whispers once more."

The excitement of the gathered guards and townspeople was incredible. They cared deeply for the Gildergreen, as much as Danica. I stepped back, falling silent, and watched, breathless myself, as Danica gently smeared the sap upon one of the roots of the Gildergreen.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then, I saw the sap glow, and seemingly sink _into_ the bark itself. And in its place, I saw an achingly familiar rich brown colour appear, and begin to climb its way up the side of the tree. Awed and excited whispers rang around the people as the dull white bark turned a mellow, earthly brown.

Danica rose, the sap bowl in one hand, and moved to a different root of the tree. There, she knelt, and applied more sap, and the brown colour returned much faster, climbing its way over the trunk of the Gildergreen at a swifter pace. Slowly and carefully, Danica moved to every root, and soon the entire trunk was a wonderful brown.

And then the colour seeped up into the branches. And I watched, before my very eyes, as buds appeared on the twigs, and they unfolded, and crimson blossoms appeared on every twig and tiny stem. Slowly, steadily, the redness returned, unfolding in every branch and weighing it down, and soon the people were crying out in amazement and joy. Their tree had returned at last.

And then the sap bowl was empty, and Danica straightened up, and marveled at the transformation of the great tree. Two minutes ago, it had been dead and white. Now, it was deep brown and red, and all the blossoms had returned to the branches.

We fell silent. And we listened. We waited for the first breeze to come.

And it came. It whistled over Jorrvaskr and through the branches of the Gildergreen. And the soft whispers of Kynareth rang once more around Whiterun.

Danica was beaming. Her face looked happier than I had ever seen it.

"Perhaps it will draw the pilgrims again," she said, and gently she ran her hands along the soft brown bark, and let out a laugh as she felt its life course through. "The Eldergleam's sap runs in this Gildergreen's blood. Her daughter will continue to prosper in Whiterun for many long centuries yet."

A cheer went up around the gathered people. I couldn't stop smiling; I hadn't even realized how much I cared for this wonderful, majestic tree. In these dark times, the whispers of Kynareth would be a relief to all people. The pilgrims would boost the economy of the town. And...well, I had a nice, shady place to sit under once again, and where I could peacefully listen to the murmurings of a Goddess to soothe my own troubles within.

* * *

It would be a clear night tonight. Secunda and Masser rose over Throat of the World, Secunda high in the sky already, and Masser's huge face clearly outlining the peak. And the last of the day's light began to recede over the western horizon, somewhere near Markarth.

"I wonder if the Greybeards know about the New Life Festival," said Skjor, folding his arms, and regarding the quite beautiful scene of the moons and the mountain. "And if they celebrate it."

I could hardly imagine the old hermits to sit around in a large circle and give each other delightfully-wrapped gifts.

"Don't get your hopes up," I said playfully to Skjor. "It's only the seventeenth of Evening Star."

"So? We give each other the presents on the twenty-fifth," said Skjor, looking back at me innocently. "And then there's the celebrations of the new year, the second New Life Festival. You know, I still don't understand why they called a festival for the new year and a festival for giving and friendship the same thing. It could be confusing."

"But it hasn't really been, not for all the years we've been in Jorrvaskr," I smiled.

For a moment, we stood in contented silence in the middle of the courtyard, just watching the rising moons. The wolves were contented with the moonshine as well. Then Skjor glanced at me, perhaps desperate for a stroke of conversation.

"I heard that the College of Winterhold's under new management," commented Skjor. "And that those damned mages finally blew up the town."

I softly chuckled. "Oh, no. They didn't, did they?"

"Well, let's just hope that the townsfolk tell us about some trouble near Winterhold," said Skjor. "I wouldn't mind getting away from the hustle and bustle from Whiterun for a few days..." he turned to me, love fluttering awkwardly in his good eye. "Maybe...with you...?"

I gave a soft laugh, giving Skjor a playful push. "Skjor, please. If we do that, let's make it somewhere more private."

"Asking you out?" Skjor looked amused.

I put a hand to my chest and stared at Skjor as though honoured. "Really? Me? To go out with you?"

Skjor grinned. "And not just to go and kill things. Maybe we could actually just go someplace nice, and sightsee a little. Perhaps we could ask Kodlak if we could just go off for a break in the new year. Maybe journey into High Rock and see how Aileen and Derrick are getting on."

"I doubt Kodlak would let us go now," I said. "We've very few Companions. And we're his senior advisers." I looked at Skjor carefully. "_You_ are meant to be the next Harbinger after Kodlak."

Skjor shrugged. "True," he conceded. "Though I'm not sure if I'm really willing to be the next Harbinger. Holding a group of feisty brigands together, in the same way Kodlak has done for now over twenty years..." he shook his head wearily. "Sometimes, I don't feel that I'm ready."

"You're ready," I assured him. "You've been through as much as any man or woman, and you've earned the right to be a Harbinger as any of us. Besides, you're the best man for the job."

"You'd be a pretty good Harbinger," said Skjor.

"Oh, please, you know very well I'd never stay around long enough to get things done."

Skjor laughed. "True, that," he said.

I glanced sternly at him. "When you're in love with a woman, you're meant to pat her sympathetically when she puts herself down, and you're meant to boost her self-esteem again, and convince her that even though she's going to suck at what she talks about, she should do it nonetheless."

"Oh, okay." Skjor patted my shoulder in a sympathetic manner. "No, don't say that, Aela. I think you'd make a _brilliant_ Harbinger."

"More fluff."

"I think you'd make the _best_ Harbinger."

"Less fluff."

Skjor sighed. "Okay, I give up."

I rested my hand on his shoulder and looked seriously into his eyes. "Never give up, Skjor," I said earnestly. "You are going to make a wonderful Harbinger when Kodlak steps down. You will lead the Companions to honour and glory. And you'll know that I'll always be here for you."

Skjor looked impressed. "Wow, that's pretty good. I was actually believing you there."

I drew my hand away from his shoulder with a small laugh. "If only you could be good as that when you're talking to _me_," I said. I felt warmth spread through my heart, and I knew it was sparkling in my eyes; it was shining in Skjor's. "One of these days," I commented, "one of us is going to be found carrying an Amulet of Mara."

Skjor smiled, taking my hand in his. "I'll look forward to it."

_BOOM!_

The world shook, and we stumbled, as a thunderous sound suddenly wrenched the sky open. I looked up sharply, fear fluttering in my blood. "What was that?"

"How the hell should I know?" Skjor was looking just as anxious as I.

My gaze flashed to the Throat of the World. Something was happening there, I was sure of it.

And I was right.

As I watched, suddenly the sedate wisps of cloud that had simply hung around the pinnacle of the Throat began to spin faster and faster, rising up into a whirlwind that completely engulfed the crest of the giant mountain. And then I heard the sounds.

The screams.

The bellowing dragon roars, screaming hate and blood into the air.

"Shit," Skjor hissed. "What's going on up there?"

The back door to Jorrvaskr banged open, and the Companions hurried outside, staring up at the Throat in horror and awe.

"What's happening?" demanded Athis.

"It sounds like a dragon's attacking the Throat of the World," said Ria, astonished.

"Attacking the monastery?" Farkas looked horrified.

"No...the monastery's just below." I could still make out the dark shape of High Hrothgar. It wasn't quite at the pinnacle of the Throat, and I was pretty sure the Greybeards were safe.

Another echoing roar, this time with a crack of ancient age within it, was hurled from the mountain amidst the spinning whirlwind. A powerful blue light suddenly illuminated the top of the mountain, and another scream of pain whirled from amidst the spinning, burning clouds.

The lights and the explosions and the roaring continued. And then I heard a voice echo from the mountain, spinning out like thunder to all over Skyrim.

"JOOR – ZAH – FRUL!"

And then there was a dragon's scream, a scream unlike anything I had ever heard before. And yet it was terrible to hear. It gave me the coldest shivers down my back, and beside me, Skjor tensed, as though he could barely stand to hear the sound. The wolf howled in pain, drawing back into the darker areas of my mind, where it hoped to be safe of those awful noises.

And then I heard a shrieking roar, deep and menacing, break out from amidst the fiery clouds that circled atop the Throat.

"MAH WAH FAAL VULOM, DOVAHKIIN! HIO ZU ZAAM!"

"Dovahkiin – ?" Vilkas repeated, stunned.

"The Dragonborn..." I breathed. In a flash, I understood.

"She's fighting the World-Eater!"

I didn't even know how I knew this. But it was the only possible answer. Why atop Throat of the World? Where they could Shout the strongest? But a moment later, I heard another dragon's roar, from the one who sounded older; it was a howl of despair.

"Damn it, I wish that we knew dragon-speech," spat Njada angrily. "Then we could find out what the hell that dragon said."

And then, a moment later, we hushed, as what was clearly a hoarse woman's voice, torn not just with pain but with indescribable rage, boomed from the mountain, drowning out the deeper-voiced dragon's shriek of rage and shock.

"ZU FEN NEH NAL KRENT, ALDUIN!"

"Well," whispered Skjor beside me in disbelief, "You were right when you said the Dragonborn's fighting the World-Eater." Clearly, he had heard the name 'Alduin' cried amidst the incomprehensible dragon language as well.

There was another roar, and for a moment, the fiery clouds intensified, throwing powerful red auroras into the once-clear night sky. And then...silence.

The fiery clouds vanished, and a mysterious silence fell over the entire of Skyrim.

For a moment, I wondered if the battle was over.

Perhaps it was.

And then we saw him. What could only be the World-Eater.

He broke away from Throat of the World, and glided across Masser's face, heading south into the Rift. In the brief moment that he was outlined against the moon, we saw him.

And I recognized him.

_The black dragon...the one who flew over Whiterun, nearly a year and a half ago..._

_The one who stared me full in the face and promised death..._

_The one who destroyed Helgen..._

Why was he leaving? Had the Dragonborn failed? Was Skyrim and Tamriel doomed to die to Alduin's maw?

But then, as if in response to this, a thunderous roar exploded from the mountain.

"FAAS ZU, ALDUIN! ZU FEN YAH HIO!"

"She's alive," said Vilkas, his eyes shining. "The Dragonborn's alive."

"And Alduin fled...he must fear the power of her Thu'um," breathed Njada in whispered awe.

Peace descended over Throat of the World once more, and the wolf timidly crept out from the shadows of my mind, and muttered, _Hunt. We must hunt._

No. Not tonight. The sight of the World-Eater, and the knowledge he had stared at me once, completely unnerved me, and took any interest of hunting away from me. I gripped Skjor's hand and breathed, "Gods, what is happening to this world?"

Skjor was quiet for a moment. And then he squeezed my hand.

"I don't know," he murmured. "But all our hopes rely on the Dragonborn. If she fails, then we are all going to die."

We were all going to die, should the Dragonborn fail.

I would die.

I would suffer eternal damnation from Hircine, from failing to complete the task he had set me.

And I knew I could not fail. Time was of the essence. And Alduin's defeat would ensure the survival of Nirn. And my chances of finding Panjor.

_Gods speed your hunt, Dragonborn,_ I thought. _And may Hircine watch over you._

* * *

**A/N: Please, as usual R&R, but please also head over to my profile and take the poll :) It'll mean so much to me for you to vote for what I should write after The Huntress is completed. Only twenty more chapters to go! Tomorrow: what does Aela think when the Dragonborn calls a peace council between the 'bear' and the 'wolf'? And what does Aela think when she sees a bloody big dragon turn up in Dragonsreach? Has the world gone mad?  
**

**Maybe. See you next time! :D  
**


	47. Chapter 46 - Happenings in Dragonsreach

**A/N: Hi again! Yes, here is chapter forty-six, sorry you had to wait a bit more than 24 hours for it, but it's here now, so enjoy! :D**

**Dragon translations at the end  
**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six

"Feel free to browse," beamed Fralia.

I paused, looking carefully at the sculpted weapons and necklaces.

Fralia looked smugly at my uncertain look. "This is the first time that I've seen you so hesitant, Huntress. I'm guessing this isn't for you?"

"No." I looked around, and then lowered my voice. "New Life Festival."

Fralia chuckled. "Even then, you're still hesitant. You're looking for just the right item, but you don't know what, because whoever it is, dear, they mean a lot to you."

"They...he does," I said, reluctantly. Fralia didn't have insight, but she missed nothing.

A wicked grin played on her face. "I thought as much, dearest," she remarked. "Who's it for, then? If it's not an amulet of Mara first."

I glared at her. "It's NOT coming to that. At least, not yet. But I want Skjor to – "

"Oho! It's about time that you two got married."

I stared at Fralia, wondering for a moment if she were crazy. "Are you insane?" I hissed, my face flushing red, praying that nobody nearby had overheard us. "No, not yet, maybe never. Skjor's my lover, not my moonwashed lover. The time is _not_ yet."

Fralia chuckled. She didn't seem to be fazed at all by my sudden aggression. "Ah, dear, I can see it in your eyes. You do want Skjor. You want him more than any other present in the world."

"I...don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled.

"Don't I?" Fralia grinned. "I felt just like you when I was a younger woman, when I first met Eorlund. Oh, he was such a good man. So clever, so strong. Of course, we were married before you arrived in the Companions. But though we weren't intertwined day and night like moonstruck lovers, we shared our love. Formal love, but love nonetheless. And for many, many years, you've been sharing a formal love with Skjor, have you not? Do you deny this?"

I hesitated. What was I to say? This woman was reading me like a book.

Fralia nodded as though this settled the matter. "You chose well. Skjor is a good man. It just so happens that I have an amulet of Mara on hand. Would you care to take it now?"

"No," I said quickly. "Don't put it on hold, either. I'm not going to ask him now."

"Now is a good time," said Fralia grimly. "The end of the world is coming, and fast. Didn't you hear those thundering sounds last night?"

I nodded. "The Dragonborn was fighting the World-Eater on the Throat of the World."

"It's a miracle the Dragonborn could even survive," said Fralia, her eyes narrowing. "We don't have too much time left. Best to try and enjoy the last few days as much as possible. Olava thinks that the fate of the world will be decided in the turning of the new year."

"So it'll be decided then, huh?" I frowned. The second New Life Festival, this time to celebrate a year gone and a new year to come, was only nine days away. "But I'm not going to give an amulet of Mara to Skjor. Not yet. I...still need some time."

"You've had many years, lass. You're not careful, soon the other women will have found him first."

"We've...admitted our love," I told her, irritably. "But we're waiting for the right time for us to get married. And we're _not_ engaged," I added, seeing Fralia about to ask. "I came down here to get a gift for Skjor. Do you or don't you have anything which is both affordable and special?"

Fralia frowned slightly at my abrupt tone, and then she graciously smiled, bent down behind the counter, and straightened up with an amulet. I wondered for a moment if that was to be an amulet of Mara. But it was something else.

My eyes widened at the craftsmanship of the amulet, and I took it gently in my hands, as though frightened the steel was glass and that it was going to shatter if I held it the wrong way. There could be nothing more perfect.

It was a stag. A beautiful stag's head, with gently twirling antlers made of flint, and eyes with two tiny shards of emerald in the centre. It was held by a fine chain – nowhere near as fine as the chain that held my own wolf's head amulet to my chest, but it was beautiful nonetheless, and shone a soft, shimmering bronze.

"Eorlund crafted this only a few days ago," smiled Fralia, reveling in my speechlessness. "He seemed to know exactly what you wanted for a gift to Skjor. So he told me to give it to you...free of charge."

I stared at Fralia. "No...I couldn't do that. This thing must be worth – "

"Trust me, we won't accept a single septim for it," said Fralia firmly. "You give me the money, I'll give it to Brenuin."

"But...why?"

"Why? Because we know of your happiness when you're around Skjor. You need to settle down from the hard life as a Companion and accept Skjor completely into your life." Wisdom flashed in Fralia's aging eyes. "You never know what's going to happen. And the world may not have long to live. Being Companions, nor may you. So give him the amulet, and tell him it's from you, and tell him to wear it day and night. It's the second-best thing to an amulet of Mara."

For a moment longer, I held the amulet in my grasp. I felt the texture of the stag's head, blunt and firm beneath my fingers. Being made of Skyforge steel, it wasn't going to break or rust easily, and was lighter than normal steel. Then, all I simply murmured was, "Thank you."

"Anytime, my girl, anytime, though don't go around thinking that you'll be getting discounts and freebies from now on," smiled Fralia. "This is something that both you and Skjor deserve. Our New Life gift to you from us, that you may pass down to your love."

I fingered the stag head. The emerald eyes glinted.

Then I looked down at Hircine's token. With my other hand I held the wolf's head, and compared the two.

_A wolf and a stag,_ I thought. _Hunter and hunted. Sly and valiant. Shy and proud. Swift and magnificent._ They were opposites in every way, but there could not be a better pair.

The antlers that Skjor and I had first recovered from the great browny-black stag, where Hircine had first formally blessed me, were hung in the undercroft, where even now, many years on, the whelps stopped to admire such a priceless pair. I smiled to myself, as I thanked Fralia, pocketed the amulet, and headed back up to Jorrvaskr. I hadn't quite forgotten my years-old grudge to him, the one I had made in the Frostfruit inn where I first met him.

* * *

I had seen countless New Life Festivals in Whiterun. I had been with Jorrvaskr for so many years that I had grown used to the grandness and extravagance that the people of Whiterun threw into this particular festival. But this year seemed more different than most.

Perhaps it was the Gildergreen that did it. Now that it had been restored, it made the Wind District look beautiful and peaceful once again. And the great, leafy branches, borne with crimson blossoms, now had streamers and banners dangling down and stretching across to the surrounding arches. The people were eagerly beginning to set up torchbug lanterns to hang from certain hanging points in the Gildergreen. The children in Whiterun took great pleasure chasing the slow, pretty beetle-like bugs in the dusk and catching them, though they wouldn't need to bring them to Danica until a day before the New Life Festival that would celebrate the new year. For the time of giving, the jars would be filled with candles.

And I had heard that Farengar was eagerly practicing his best magic to awe and dazzle the people of Whiterun for the festival.

The whole city was going into a festive mood. Great banners of Whiterun's symbol, the horse, were being thrown down the inner walls, and magnificent streamers stretched across the street from roof to roof. Even Jorrvaskr was settling into the spirit. For a joke, Athis and Torvar decided to put flowers of mistletoe on the prize antlers, and they did such a good job that Kodlak decided they should stay there – at least for the celebrations.

We hung streamers in the rafters. And then, a day before the New Life Festival, we received a surprise; we all discovered Torvar's hidden talent. He had weaved us a magnificent tapestry from folds of thread he had bought off Belethor, of a mighty black dragon and a bold Nord woman, clad in shining steel armour and fighting with sword and shield, facing each other on a snowy mountain peak.

"How come, in the many years you've spent with us, you've never told us about your skill?" Vilkas spluttered in amazement, as Torvar revealed the tapestry to us.

Torvar shrugged. "It didn't seem like a warrior's skill."

He handed it to Vilkas. "You can hang it up over the fire. I used a special kind of thread for the dragon's red eyes. Outlined in firelight, they should glow."

They did. It took some effort for Vilkas and Ria to climb up into the rafters to hang the tapestry over the magnificent Jorrvaskr fire, but when it was firmly fastened and secure, we all stepped back to admire the tapestry, and saw the red eyes shimmer and glow as though they were little red candles of their own.

"Impressive," said Kodlak, grinning a little. "I think that the Jarl himself would want to get this, should he see this."

"Perhaps I should go and tell him," said Vignar, who surveyed the tapestry near the door. His manservant Brill stood protectively nearby. "I'm on my way up to Dragonsreach this evening."

"At least tell him about the tapestry when the New Life Festivals are over," Torvar said. "I wove this for the Festivals, and I'm not having it taken down anytime before."

That evening, we all decided to eat out. Most of the Companions had headed down to the Bannered Mare, but Skjor, Farkas, Vilkas and I decided to remain up at Jorrvaskr, simply gazing out over the transformed city. We could see the banners crisscrossing the city, glowing in the light of the braziers.

"You know, it almost makes the world look peaceful, every single time the New Life Festival comes around," commented Vilkas, leaning back, looking comfortable. "And then you think about the bloody dragons and the Thalmor and the other territories...and you know that Tamriel is far from restful."

"Not to mention our Lord, and the others," Farkas said slowly and carefully.

I was quiet. I hadn't told Fralia why I didn't want to give Skjor an amulet of Mara, signaling my desire to spend the rest of my life with him. I had tried not to think about it. But since she had mentioned it recently I had been thinking mostly about it. Why I had refused to buy the amulet of Mara off her, to give to Skjor. She was right; the world was going to either end or be saved in a matter of short days. Olava had predicted the fate of everything would be decided on the celebrations of a year gone, another beginning.

But I knew that as much as I wanted to be with Skjor, I knew that I couldn't. I still had a task to do. If it weren't for my Lord I would be with Samiith and Orgmund and Taija in the Hunting Grounds. I knew that I had to put Hircine's request first, to kill Panjor and exterminate the Silver Hand before I could finally relax and retire, and have Skjor at my side.

Perhaps he knew this, too. I looked at Skjor, who grinned and put his arm around my shoulders. I put my head beside his and we looked up at the rising twin moons. Masser and Secunda beamed down on us and I felt the wolf pace restlessly within. Perhaps Skjor understood that until I had completed my task we could not forge the bonds of matrimony.

But we would. One day, we would.

I smiled. I would look forward to that day very much.

"You know," said Skjor quietly, "ever since I was a young boy, growing up in Dawnstar, we'd celebrate the New Life Festivals merrily. But Dawnstar isn't the wealthiest town. When I came to Whiterun after the Great War was over, I first fully appreciated how much the townspeople put into their festivals. It's as grand as Solitude, but better; everything's fresher here, and golden."

"In Rorikstead, the only way we celebrated our festivals was giving each other small, home-made gifts and having a jolly feast in our cottages," I murmured, remembering clearly how my family and I would celebrate the New Life. I closed my eyes and a youthful memory played itself before my eyes. How Father decorated our cottage interior with mistletoe that I had harvested while out hunting. Mother had hung branches of juniper and cranberry over the hearth. Lokir and Ulfgar would laugh and play games. I would help with the meal preparations. And then we would set the table, and we'd gather around, and we'd talk and we'd laugh and share fond family memories – how Lokir had once shot up our old apple tree when one of Lemkil's aggressive roosters had escaped its hutch and pursued him, how Ulfgar had accidently tripped into the trough of goat feed when one of the kids had started chewing on his trouser leg, how I once shot one of the patrolling guardsmen in the knee with an arrow and he had to be removed from Rorikstead to go to Whiterun's healers for a few days.

For some strange reason, arrows and knees appeared to be a great joke to the guards here.

"Did you celebrate much in Honourhall?" asked Skjor, glancing at the twins.

Vilkas laughed grimly. "Oh, next to nothing. Riften isn't the jolliest town when it comes to celebrations. No banners, no streamers, no mistletoe, holly, juniper or festive flowers. The only thing that changed was that the thieves came out more. In Honourhall, it was the same old each day. Grelod refused to let us play games or relax in our chores once on New Life Festival. She beat anyone who complained and didn't even make a special dinner."

I looked sympathetically at Vilkas. "How awful."

"It was pretty bad," Farkas agreed. "But bad for us in particular."

"Why?" asked Skjor.

"Well, we were really sorry for some of the kids at the Orphanage," said Vilkas. "So in our eleventh year, Farkas and I plotted together and we decided that we would secretly give them gifts. When a chair was broken in Honourhall, we smuggled the pieces beneath our beds, and late at night from Sun's Dusk through Evening Star we'd sit up and carve little wooden animals from the pieces from them."

Vilkas gave a small smile. "Farkas and I had our old pocket knives Da had given us before he went off into the Great War. I knew how to use one, and so did Farkas. So we spent hours secretly staying up late and carving the little animals by candlelight. We secretly asked the kids what was their favourite animal, made a mental note, and then carved them from the wood. They were small – they had to be, so they'd fit in the kids' pockets, so Grelod would find out – but we put as much detail into them as we could."

"We carved a lot of things," said Farkas. "Bears, wolves, eagles...even a troll. On New Life Festival, when we were all outside and playing in the yard, and when we were sure that Grelod was inside, we gave the little wood animals out."

"You should've seen their faces; it was better than joy," grinned Vilkas.

I was amazed that Vilkas and Farkas had been so kind-hearted to the orphans. "In all my years of knowing you two, you've never once told us about an Honourhall New Life Festival?"

Vilkas shrugged. "We considered it. But then the next memory was a bit too painful to bear."

My smile faded. "What happened?"

"Well...Grelod found out," said Vilkas, grimly. "She was...angry, to put it kindly. Furious, actually. We received a lot of beatings. And then Grelod took our pocket knives and threw them in the fire."

My eyes widened in shock. "The bitch!"

"They were from Da," murmured Farkas sadly. "One of his last gifts to us before he went into the Great War and never returned. And she knew that." He curled his hands into fists. "Sometimes, I feel like going back there, to the Orphanage, and just...and just..."

"Don't worry," said Vilkas kindly, patting his brother's steel-plated shoulder. "Wherever Grelod is now – not Sovngarde, I'm sure – she isn't going to be bothering us again."

"She's dead?" asked Skjor.

"Yeah. Seems like she hurt the wrong kid this time," said Farkas, looking up at where Skjor and I sat. "A boy called Aventus Aretino ran away from the Orphanage, contacted the Dark Brotherhood, and had Grelod killed. That happened about three months ago."

"Were the kids upset?"

"Are you kidding? They sang songs all evening and jumped on their beds."

Skjor and I laughed, and Farkas and Vilkas cracked a grin.

"The Honourhall's come under new management in that time," Vilkas went on. "Constance Michel now runs the place. From what I hear, she actually is kind, completely unlike Grelod. So perhaps the orphans now at the Orphanage will actually have a happy New Life Festival this year."

I growled softly. "If the Gods-damned world doesn't end first."

* * *

Skjor and I entered the Underforge the next morning to find that Kodlak and the twins were already waiting for us near the altar.

"Ah, good, you're here," declared Kodlak, his eyes bright. Beneath one arm lay a brown package, and Vilkas and Farkas were holding their own presents.

Beside me, Skjor grinned and held up his own gift. "Shall we begin?"

"The Harbinger is the first to receive his present," I said.

Farkas walked forward, and pressed his package into Kodlak's hands. "Hope you like it," he grunted, before stumping back to his place at Vilkas's sides. Kodlak flashed Farkas a warm smile, and gently unwrapped the square-shaped package. It turned out to be a book, large, silver and embossed, and labeled 'The Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor'.

"Now this will make for excellent reading," Kodlak declared.

He stepped forward, and handed Vilkas his gift. Vilkas unwrapped it, to find a magnificent helm, clad with wolf fur and bearing the marks of Hircine; the stag and the wolf.

"Perhaps it will help in your contracts soon to come," Kodlak said. "And suit your wolf armour."

Vilkas put the helmet on and tried it for size. "It fits perfectly," he said warmly to his Harbinger. "Thank you, Kodlak."

"This isn't the place nor the time to get sentimental; some of us are still waiting for our presents," grinned Skjor, as he handed Farkas his gift. It was a new shield, one that Skjor had uncovered when he recently journeyed to an old Nordic crypt. "Banded iron, Farkas; light and hard," he said, as Farkas gripped the shield and tested its weight and strength. "When you're not swinging that monster over your back and you've settled for a sword, let's hope this shield will guard your back, even when you're alone."

Farkas nodded. "Thanks, Skjor."

Then Vilkas approached me next. As I received his package, Vilkas flashed me an odd smile. "It's not much, but it'll help with your hunting, hopefully," he said, as he stepped away from me.

I unfolded the stiff brown parchment to find it was a new quiver.

"Oh, good," I said, flashing Vilkas a smile. "My old one was starting to get pretty battered."

To prove this, I unfastened the belt that held my old quiver in place, took the quiver down, emptied it of arrows and then slipped them into the new quiver. I set it on my back and tightened the strap. It felt lighter and more comfortable on my iron-plated back and shoulders. "Thanks. I think it'll definitely help with my hunting in the future."

"Skjor," said Kodlak, a knowing gleam in his gaze. "Seems like Aela is the last one to give her present. And it's for you."

"Now, I wonder what _this_ could be," said Farkas, with a grin.

"Shut up," I said to them, ignoring their somewhat coy gazes. I turned sincerely to Skjor, and I could see nervous excitement in his eye as he waited for his gift. Gently, I drew out the amulet that Eorlund had crafted for me; the stag with the emerald eyes.

Skjor's eye widened with wonder as he accepted the amulet. "By the Gods...I've never seen anything like it..."

"Eorlund crafted that, I assume?" asked Kodlak, respect flashing in his paling eyes as he gazed at the amulet. "The man certainly has skill. I've never seen an amulet more beautiful."

"Or meaningful," added Skjor, as he slung the amulet gently around his throat. The stag rested upon his chest and over his wolf armour, where the head of the stag sat just beneath the jutting wolf's head, that rested in the centre of his armour and stuck out as though the wolf was reaching out to bite. The antlers of the amulet curled up gracefully, lightly brushing the wolf's cheeks, and the emerald eyes glinted.

"Thank you, Aela," he said softly.

I smiled. Gods, his eye was beautiful. In that eye, I could see into his mind, and I could see the love that he and I shared. I took my hand in his and leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "Now's not the time to be getting all sentimental."

I drew away, and Skjor smiled. "Then when can we?"

"Perhaps when we hunt tonight."

I glanced towards the other three, who were watching with a somewhat keen interest in their eyes. I swear that I could almost hear them going, _Come on, come on...kiss, Gods-damnit, kiss, you've kept us waiting long enough!_

"When we're alone," I added.

"You hear that?" Skjor demanded, letting out a growl. "So turn your prying eyes away, she's mine already!"

Farkas looked confused, but Vilkas let out a shy smile.

"I wasn't threatening you, Skjor," he said.

I stared incredulously at Skjor. "What do you mean, I'm yours already?"

His voice softened. "I think you were mine the moment I first rested eyes on you."

* * *

I was out with Skjor beneath the shadows of the Gildergreen when I next saw her again. The Dragonborn.

It was many days after the New Life Festival of giving. In fact, the New Life Festival, the year's celebration, was about one day away, beginning tomorrow. We had heard about her recent activities – that she had called the two sides of the Civil War up to High Hrothgar. Personally, I was amazed that the Dragonborn had managed to negotiate a temporary truce between them. Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius hated each other to Oblivion and back.

I had heard that the Thalmor First Emissary had gone up to High Hrothgar also. But that she was appropriately cast out before the meeting began.

The meeting had been two days ago. Why the Dragonborn had suddenly called this urgent conference was completely unknown to me and any member of the Companions. But I had a feeling it had to do with finding where the World-Eater had apparently fled.

But I had noticed a subtle change fall over the guards this morning. They were quieter, tenser, moodier. They didn't stop and speak to the townspeople as they usually did. Whenever someone asked if everything was all right in Dragonsreach they simply said not to worry if anything out-of-the-ordinary happened.

Which led me to suspicions that something out-of-the-ordinary was about to happen.

And my first clue was when I saw the Dragonborn again. But I barely realized it was her.

Skjor and I were sitting beneath the bench in the shadows of the Gildergreen, and listening to the peaceful rustling of the branches and blossoms. Everything was prepared for the New Life Festival celebration, beginning tomorrow night and lasting into the morning. The whole of Skyrim would be celebrating this event.

One of the city guards passed on patrol, when suddenly he stiffened, and whispered, "Dragonborn..."

Instantly my head snapped up and I rose to my feet, and I looked around the Gildergreen. I saw her, when I thought I would never see her again.

The first time, it had been in Bonestrewn Crest. She had been wearing different armour to the kind she wore now.

In awe, I stared at the armour. It was a glinting, shimmering bronze and green, plated with storm-silver bone around the edges. But a hood and a long tattered travelling cloak had been thrown over the back of the armour, and the shadow from the cowl of the hood concealed the Dragonborn's appearance.

Huskily she said, "Is everything prepared? Has he safely returned?"

"Yes, Dovahkiin, we are ready."

The woman nodded. "Then this is it."

"Talos protect you, Dragonborn..." there was real fear in the guard's voice.

The Dragonborn flashed a glance at me, though I couldn't see her face beneath the hood.

"Keep the citizens of Whiterun under control, Companion," she said quietly, her voice rougher than I last remembered. "They will panic. But they mustn't."

Before I could ask what she meant, she turned, and quickly, she walked to Dragonsreach.

I turned to the guard. "What's going on?"

The guard could have frowned beneath his helmet, but I couldn't say. Instead, he simply said, "The Dragonborn has to find the World-Eater before he can devour Nirn's spirit. The only way to learn of his location – there's been no word of a black dragon flying anywhere in Skyrim, or in Tamriel – is to find it out personally from one of his servants."

"And what would one of – " Skjor abruptly broke off in midsentence. "Wait," he rasped. "You don't mean – "

The guard nodded grimly. "Oh, yes. Dragonsreach was built once to hold a dragon. It'll hold another dragon again."

"A _dragon_, coming to Whiterun?" I could hardly believe what the guard was saying. "Is the Dragonborn insane? The thing could raze the city to the ground!"

"Aye," said the guard. "She could be insane. But it's the only way."

He let out a tired sigh. "At least I'm not one of the lucky fellas up in Dragonsreach helping to catch the damned lizard."

I frowned. "She should have a Companion up there."

"No. The Companions have no experience with dragons. The Dragonborn's orders were specific – only those who have fought and survived against a dragon before can be up on Dragonsreach's balcony."

"Excuse me?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Two other Companions and I went to Bonestrewn Crest and fought against a bloody dragon. That's how we first met her, the Dragonborn. How come we weren't informed?"

The guard was probably surprised, and then he said, "Well...I suppose the Dragonborn has her reasons."

I scowled. "If she succeeds at this, I'm going to ask her a few questions. I doubt she's forgotten about me."

Skjor narrowed his eyes. "How does the Dragonborn intend to get the dragon into Dragonsreach at all?"

The guard shrugged as he walked away. "How should I know? From what I heard, the Dragonborn's simply going to call and he'll come like any trained mutt. Doubt the damned thing would..."

Skjor and I exchanged confused glances. This world was going to go crazy before it died. This world _was_ going crazy before it died. Then we headed steadily up to Jorrvaskr, wondering what on Nirn we were going to tell the whelps. They'd probably think we were on Skooma or something.

"Any moment," muttered Skjor, "It's going to happen."

I nodded. I could feel it in the air.

We headed around to the back yard. I heard the clattering of steel before I even arrived, and realized that Athis was testing out his skills against Vilkas. Farkas, Ria and Torvar sat in the shelter of the overhang. Kodlak was probably downstairs again, and I wasn't sure where Njada was. Maybe going for a walk around the city.

Torvar looked up as we approached. "Where've you been?" he grunted.

Before we could answer, I heard Athis swear in Dunmeris as Vilkas knocked him over. Before the Nord could end the bout, Athis, agile as his uncle had been, twisted and leapt back to his feet and slammed his blade against Vilkas's.

"By the Gildergreen," I replied, almost irritably. "Don't you even realize what's going on?"

Vilkas and Athis paused as well as the other Companions, confusion obvious in their faces.

"What is going on?" Vilkas asked, frowning slightly.

Before I could respond, a sound like thunder roared from the magnificent balcony of Dragonsreach Palace.

"OD – AH – VIING!"

And then silence.

"_That's_ happening," Skjor responded.

"Was that – the Dragonborn?" Ria quickly got to her feet. "What's she doing up in Dragonsreach? Do you know what she said?"

_From what I heard, the Dragonborn's simply going to call and he'll come..._

I realized immediately.

"She's summoned a dragon," I said quietly to the Companions. "Any moment, it is going to pass by the city."

Instantly they were on their feet, shock and alarm in their faces. Vilkas clutched his greatsword tighter than ever. Athis's face became an unusual silver sheen. "What the hell is she doing, bringing a bloody dragon to Dragonsreach?" Torvar shouted.

"She's going to capture it," Skjor replied quickly, looking up towards the sky.

Distantly, we heard a thrumming roar roll across the landscape. My skin prickled. It was the call of the dragon. It had to be.

"Not kill it?" frowned Athis.

"No. Alduin's servants can tell him where he's gone. And so she's going to try and capture him," I said. I realized my voice had lowered. Suspense hung thick in the air.

And then, suddenly, I could see the dragon. We all could. But it was silent. It was blood-red in colour, with huge purple wings. For a moment, it rose into the air, twisting with rare grace into the sky, before suddenly swooping down with the speed of a falling stone, and let out a blood-chilling screech, sweeping its talons out. I heard a terrified scream, abruptly cut short, and then I watched as the blood-red dragon rose above Dragonsreach again, opened its jaws...and the body of a mortal plummeted down...down...down...

No. No...it couldn't be...

It wasn't. A moment later, I heard the Dragonborn's wild cry. "MAH WAH GOL! KRIF ZU, ODAHVIING, SAHQO DOVAH SE FAAL BROM! KRIF ZU, DOVAH WAH DOVAH!" Her thunderous voice echoed out from the balcony of Dragonsreach.

The huge red dragon whirled around, and in a rough voice, but a voice that the whole of Whiterun could clearly hear, it roared, "Dovahkiin! Hokoron! Hio horvut zu wah Dovah-Horvutah? Hio krin, ahrk aan mey!"

I heard the Dragonborn cry out again, in that strange and terrible dragon-tongue. "Hio peyt nol dinok, naal Alduin jot, wah ok zaam! Dreh hio nii hind wah stin?"

The dragon let out a fearsome roar. "ZU'U NIIDMAARRE ZAAM!" With a wild shriek, it twisted, spread its wings wide in the air, and roared, "YOL..."

Though it had been many months since I had faced that dragon at the Crest, I knew exactly what happened when it made that noise in particular. A jet of fire suddenly shot out from its jaws, and as the flame died, the dragon let out a bout of harsh laughter and growled, "Hio daanik, joorre. Zu'u vujoor, unahzaal!"

The Dragonborn answered: "Tol los vahzah. Nuz zu vikke Alduin nau Monahven. Ok, unahzaal, bovul nol zu Thu'um! Faas zu! JOOR – ZAH – FRUL!"

A mysterious purple energy suddenly exploded from the palace, and slammed itself into the dragon's chest. It let out a shrieking bellow of senseless agony, its wings faltering, until it fell. It slammed onto the balcony, and suddenly I heard Jarl Balgruuf's voice echo from the palace. "Steady, steady! We want him alive, remember!"

I heard the dragon cry out in pain. Its long, red tail suddenly vanished into the palace, and all we could hear now were the thundering roars and Shouts that resonated from within. And then, suddenly, the dragon let out a desperate scream. And in that instant, I realized that the dragon had been captured.

Silence swept over Dragonsreach.

"Is it...over?" breathed Ria.

For a moment, I had completely forgotten that we were here in Jorrvaskr, and that we had just seen a red dragon attack Dragonsreach. I was so entranced and wishing bitterly I understood the dragon language so I could understand what the Dragonborn and the dragon were saying to one another.

"It...sounds like it..." muttered Farkas softly.

But it wasn't quite over. Not yet.

Less than ten minutes later, I suddenly heard a bellowing roar, this time of triumph and of eagerness, echo from Dragonsreach. And I heard the dragon, most surprisingly, shout in the common tongue, "Come, Dragonborn! Your destiny awaits you in Sovngarde!"

"What?" Skjor gasped.

I was just as confused. What did the dragon mean? Was it killing the Dragonborn?

But a moment later, I found out.

Suddenly the dragon leapt over the balcony, wings stretched wide. It had been freed from its prison. But it suddenly twisted around in the air, wings beating strongly, and began to glide southeast, towards the Rift. And outlined clearly on its throat, gripping its head horns determinedly, was a woman, her cloak fluttering behind her, half-leaned forward.

The Dragonborn.

Together, the dragon and Dovahkiin glided towards the Rift. Not once did they look back. And I realized that the Dragonborn's journey was nearly over. Wherever the dragon was taking her, it was carrying her towards Alduin.

The fate of the world truly rested in her hands now.

Nirn's fate would be decided soon enough.

* * *

Draconic Translations:

Mah wah gol! Krif zu, Odahviing, sahqo dovah se faal brom! Krif zu, dovah wah dovah! - _Fall to earth! Fight me, Odahviing, red dragon of the north! Fight me, dragon to dragon!_

Dovahkiin! Hokoron! Hio horvut zu wah Dovah-Horvutah? Hio krin, ahrk aan mey! - _Dragonborn! Enemy! You lure me to Dragonsreach? You are courageous, and a fool!_

Hio peyt nol dinok, naal Alduin jot, wah ok zaam! Dreh hio nii hind wah stin? - _You rose from death, by Alduin's maw, to be his slave! Do you not wish to be free?_

Zu'u niidmaarre zaam! - _I am nobody's slave!_

Hio daanik, joorre. Zu'u vujoor, unahzaal! - _You are doomed, mortals. I am immortal, eternal!_

Tol los vahzah. Nuz zu vikke Alduin nau Monahven. Ok, unahzaal, bovul nol zu Thu'um! Faas zu! - _That is true. But I defeated Alduin on Throat of the World. He, eternal, fled from my Voice. Fear me!_

* * *

**A/N: So that was a really long chapter for you to enjoy. Please R&R, as always, and also, head over to my profile and please take the poll if you haven't already! **_  
_


	48. Chapter 47 - New Life Festival

**A/N: And here we go, another chapter of The Huntress! Keep those reviews coming in! Want to see how many I can get before the world ends :(**

**Well, I'll have part 4 finished before the world blows up or whatever. Anyway, enough of me: read on!  
**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven

The night of the New Life Festival came. And by now, the entire town had heard of what had happened in Dragonsreach, and were still marveling over the fact that their Jarl and the Dragonborn so courageously fought against and trapped a dragon within the palace itself. Though some of the townsfolk still didn't believe that the Dragonborn had flown off from Whiterun on the back of the dragon she had just captured.

I could understand the queer looks they gave the Companions whenever we reinforced this theory. _Probably thought we were hitting the mead a little too hard..._I chuckled at this ridiculous thought, and stepped back calmly to observe Danica gently placing torchbugs in the jars that hung from the magnificently-decorated Gildergreen.

"I can just foresee that this year's New Life Festival is going to be the best yet," Skjor commented beside me. I flashed him a glance to see that he still wore his beautiful stag amulet. Gods, it still brought out the colour in his eye. I could be content with being around Skjor forever.

The town was very quickly growing into the spirit. Mikael from the Bannered Mare promised that he would come and play beneath the Gildergreen, and only a few hours ago, a wandering bard named Talsgar had arrived and he was to play with Mikael on his lute.

"Tonight's going to be fun," Skjor told me, as we walked slowly around Whiterun, looking at the wonderful decorations the townspeople had set up and strung from house to house, wall to wall. "There'll be music, dancing, and food – free drink, as usual, from the Bannered Mare – and the night's cloudy, so there'll be no twin moons to bother us."

I softly chuckled. "I would imagine the moons to give us more energy. Because I think I'll tire out quickly, knowing you."

"What do you think I plan to do?" Skjor innocently inquired. Then both of us had to move to the side to make way for a stampede of children racing up the other way, chasing a luna moth.

"Dance with me until I drop," I replied.

Skjor looked modestly at me. "I don't suppose you'll change out of your armour into a nice dress for the evening?" he asked.

"Hell, no. I think you could imagine the excitement that'll strike the twins if they see me in a _dress_."

"True, that," commented Skjor, with a laugh, and I subtly stomped hard on his foot a moment later.

Every home in the city was celebrating. Bunches of jazbay rested on the doors of homes, and the houses of the two clans in Whiterun seemed to have gone to great lengths in declaring their approval of the New Life Festival; each house was lavishly decorated both inside and out. Fralia Gray-Mane, just for celebration, had planted rows of new flowers outside her house that looked absolutely stunning, their petals bright with colour in the winter sun. The Battle-Borns had set up candles all around the outside of their home, and would light them when the celebrations began this evening.

In Jorrvaskr, Ria and Njada suddenly found themselves rather coy, giggling more than usual at the males, twisting their hair up into more and more extravagant hairstyles. Torvar could hardly put his eyes back in his head. Sadly, he was to be disappointed; the twins got the nerve to ask Ria and Njada to the New Life dances before he and Athis could (well, it was obvious that Athis wasn't going with Njada; the pair still heartily disliked each other). And as for me...well, it was quite clear who I was going with. A bit too clear. Whenever I saw my Harbinger he would smile that knowing smile in my direction, and Farkas would raise his eyebrows, and Vilkas would grin, and I would tell all three of them to get stuffed.

And then the night arrived for the celebrations. The whole town was in a fit of blazing excitement. We all gathered in the Wind district, to see that the Gildergreen looked absolutely beautiful. The light of the torchbugs in the jars illuminated the branches and blossoms of the tree, and as night heavily settled in, the tree's beautiful red blossoms and dark brown bark was still clearly outlined.

By then, Mikael and Tasgar had struck up beautiful melodies, playing on their flutes and lutes, the sounds of music echoing throughout the town. The Jarl had given permission for most of the guardsmen to take the night off, and they danced with their families, their helms removed and wearing plain clothes. The children, who didn't exactly believe that dancing was really their thing, went to pester Farengar the court wizard and see if he would tell them any stories.

Skjor took my hand and led me to the cobblestones. Mikael and Tasgar began a lively tune, and soon, our feet stomping in accordance to the beat, we began to dance. Skjor had decided not to take to the occasion of dressing up, either, ad he wore his wolf armour, as usual, as he did the stag amulet. Broadly smiling, his eye alight with happiness that probably reflected my own, we twirled and danced along with the others, and tried to ignore the grins that Farkas and Vilkas gave us as they danced with Njada and Ria. Torvar and Athis had managed to find some people, and were merrily dancing with the others, Torvar dancing with young and pretty Carlotta Valentia from the marketplace, Athis with one of his own kinsmen, a mercenary named Jenassa who resided in the Drunken Huntsman inn.

"Tired out yet?" Skjor asked softly, as he spiralled me around on the spot, holding my hand tightly in his.

I laughed. "Think I have no stamina, after all my years with the Companions?"

"We'll see, my little she-wolf." Skjor's eye glinted playfully, and he let out a soft wolfish growl.

I laughed. "Skjor, not here!" Self-consciously I looked around, but nobody, fortunately, was paying us any attention. "Let's wait until we're away from the twins' prying eyes, hmm?"

"I suppose." Skjor pretended to look disappointed. At least, I think he pretended.

The stars that appeared beneath the clouds glinted down at us. I soon lost track of the time. All that I knew was that I had been dancing with Skjor for hours on end, listening to tune after tune from the talented bards. And soon I was exhausted and I admitted it to Skjor.

"Perfect timing," Skjor said, grinning. "Farengar's going to show us what kind of magic he's been working on for this evening."

The bards played the final, quavering note to their song, and we all joined in with giving them a round of applause. And then we all watched as Farengar retreated up a few steps that led to Dragonsreach, so that we could all see him.

Silently we watched. Farengar flexed his hands, and looked up at the sky, as though deciding something. And then, we saw light flash in his fingers, and he tensed. Then, he drew his hand back, and released a ball of pale golden magic into the air.

It illuminated the whole of Whiterun. And suddenly, it burst into sparks, and the sparks took the shape a lean-legged deer. I was amazed, as I watched the golden deer canter gracefully above the Gildergreen.

But Farengar hadn't finished yet. He sent another ball of light into the air, and a wolf leapt from the sparks as it exploded; a lean, gaunt plains wolf, that at once leapt at the deer, which skidded to a halt and leapt away, racing faster across the sky, with the wolf racing behind it.

The deer raced low, sweeping through the astonished crowd and cantering once around the Gildergreen, until it rose up into the air again. The wolf did a mighty bound, and as it collided with the deer, they both exploded in a small shower of embers. We applauded, and Farengar gave us a small, awkward smile, before his face became set in concentration once more.

The light trembled in his fingers, and he shot it up into the air. And this time a great eagle emerged from the falling sparks. The crowd _ooh_ed and _ahh_ed as the great, golden eagle spread its wings wide and took flight, sweeping once around Dragonsreach, and then gliding suddenly straight towards the Skyforge, where suddenly it seemed to grow in size. It swooped and curled its wings, for a moment assuming the same position as the stone bird that embraced the forge, until it burst into embers, seeming to have moulded in with the stone. We all applauded Farengar once more. But he wasn't quite finished yet.

His face became intensely concentrated. And then he slapped both his wrists together, the separate lights in his hands becoming one massed light, throwing a glare over his face. And he shot this great spell up into the air, where it quickly became a magnificent dragon.

My eyes widened. Like the rest of the town, I was completely and utterly stunned. The dragon let out a ghostly, mellow roar as it glided slowly up into the air, great wings unfurled, spiraling high into the sky above the city. It opened its glowing jaws and a cloud of fire (fortunately, not real fire) erupted. Then the dragon swooped low, its wings just brushing the Gildergreen's topmost leaves. I looked back towards Farengar to suddenly see him clench his fist over the light resonating between his fingers, and then release, as he muttered an incantation.

To my surprise, a glowing bow materialized in his fingers. And he held it with his left hand, while in the right, he conjured a shining arrow, and he knocked it to the string, and aimed the arrow at the dragon.

Its eyes widened in fear and it tried to pull back, tried to retreat higher into the air. And then the shining arrow struck it, and suddenly the dragon exploded in a wonderful shower of softly-glowing sparks that spun slowly down to the ground.

We all applauded. "Amazing," said Skjor beside me, looking at the court wizard with approval.

And that's when we began to hear it.

Roaring.

The applause faltered, and the townspeople whirled around in fear. We all could recognize what were making the sounds, and suddenly I wished that I hadn't left my quiver of arrows or my bow in my room in Jorrvaskr.

We expected the dragons to suddenly swoop down and attack Whiterun.

But instead, we saw the most incredible sight.

Right above Throat of the World, the sky ripped apart, and brilliant auroras flashed into existence, a burning blue and white, beams of colour shining down from swirling clouds high in the sky. And from the sky, we could hear the sounds that we had all dreamed to hear.

The sounds of the World-Eater meeting his doom.

The thundering of Thu'um echoed from the skies, with unearthly, deep-throated roars.

And then we began to hear the calls of dragons here, in Mundus, echo joyously out.

"Ek kriffe! Ek kriffe faal Lein-Naakke!"

The lights intensified, growing red as well as blue, the light illuminating all of the mountain. And we watched as dragons – tens of dragons – began to fly towards the mountain, their excited, rumbling calls spinning out far across Skyrim and Tamriel.

"The Dragonborn," I realized in that instant, staring up at the mountain. I turned to Skjor. "She's fighting him! She's found the World-Eater and she's meeting her destiny!"

The townsfolk seemed to realize this as well. Their excited whispers rang around Whiterun.

And then, as the dragons began to circle the Throat of the World, their bellows and roars of excitement and joy able to be heard far and wide, behind me, I heard Mikael and Tasgar solemnly begin to sing:

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart!..."

And within moments, we had all begun to sing.

"_I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!_"

Our voices were unified, one great voice, echoing our need for the Dragonborn to succeed. Echoing our desperation for her victory. Echoing our hope that lay upon her shoulders.

"_With a Voice wielding power of the Ancient Nord Art!_"

There came then a bellowing roar, echoing from within the swirling, lit clouds. A roar of fury, and of pain, as though deep within the clouds, wherever he and the Dragonborn fought, he was hearing our cries and our pledges to the Dragonborn.

Our voices strengthened.

"_Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!_"

The roars of the dragons grew more intense, more excited, and flashes of flame illuminated the sides of the mountains. The lights suddenly became orange as well as blue and red and white.

"_It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes!_"

A rippling Thu'um tore through the clouds, and the lights became streaked with dark purple.

"_Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes!_"

And suddenly, the skies darkened. The lights slowly began to fade, and a sense of dread began to fall over the town. The cries of the circling dragons began to die away, and I felt the air chill.

But still we sung, knowing that though she was near death, she would destroy him. The Dragonborn would destroy the World-Eater.

It was her destiny.

"_For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows..._"

I gripped Skjor's hand, and he gripped mine. We watched as the lights began to slowly fade from the mountain. Was...was she dead? Had the Dragonborn failed? The dragons were silent now, and no sound came from the fast-receding lights.

But still we sung. Still we roared. Perhaps the whole of Skyrim was singing. Singing in their love for this world, that they did not want it to end. And that the Dragonborn was to defeat Alduin.

He would not destroy this world.

"_You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come!_"

And as we shouted out those last words, light exploded over the Throat of the World as a bellow, more terrible and yet more beautiful than anything I had ever heard, ripped down from the skies. The lights became brighter, and a chorus of joyous roars echoed from the dragons who circled the mountain. The colour broke through the clouds, the auroras shining blue and violet.

And from High Hrothgar, the voice of the Greybeards reached out once more.

"DOVAHKIIN, FEYN DO ALDUIN!"

And though I didn't understand a single word of dragon-language, I understood.

"Praise be to the Dragonborn!" I shouted, my voice ringing clearly through Whiterun. "She has slain the World-Eater!"

I was right. The dragons, as they listened to the Shout of the Greybeards, began to bellow in great joy, shouting out constantly as they rose up and landed upon the peak of the mountain.

"ALDUIN MAHLAAN!"

"MU LOS VOMIR!"

"DOVAHKIIN LOS OK DOVAHKRIID!"

"SAHROT THUR QAHNAARIN!"

"THU'UMII LOS NAHLOT!"

And as though we could understand those words in the dragon tongue, we rejoiced as did they. The world was saved, Nirn's spirit was safe. Never again would the World-Eater threaten us again. And we cheered. It was the New Life Festival, 4E203. And we were saved!

I gripped Skjor's hand, and without thinking, I led him from the crowd, and up to Jorrvaskr, and towards the Skyforge. Behind us the sky was lit up with brilliant colours. The roars of the dragons thrummed in our ears. And then, suddenly, we had slipped into the Underforge, and the door closed behind us, and everything was suddenly muffled.

"Why are we here?" Skjor sounded obviously puzzled.

"So we can celebrate a little on our own," I said, aware that my voice had grown soft. Why was he so confused? The truth was so obvious...so wonderfully obvious...

"Don't you understand? The World-Eater's dead. And the world isn't going to die. _We're_ not going to die. And when my task to Hircine is done..."

Skjor's eye glowed in the halflight. Gently, he curved his hands around my back.

"...then we can be together. For real."

Was this love? Pure love? This feeling...it was better than that urge to survive. That urge to live. This was the reason for living. This could only be the reason for living. With a soft smile, I looked deep into Skjor's eyes. Both of them. And he gazed into mine.

Thank the Gods we were alone. I leaned forward. I felt his warm embrace surround me. Joy was flooding through our veins as our lips met.

It was the first time, despite our love for one another over the passing years, that we had kissed.

The death of the World-Eater was glorious. The survival of the world was wonderous.

But this...this was a thousand times better.

* * *

**A/N: I bet some of you are probably thinking 'FINALLY!'**

**Anywho, please review, and take the poll if you have not done so already, and thank you to all who have reviewed for me so far! Any Warriors fans reading this? Be sure to check out my other story Daughter of the Sun!  
**

**Tomorrow, last chapter for Part 4: New Blood. Guess who's coming to join the Companions...  
**


	49. Chapter 48 - New Blood

**A/N: Here we are, guys! Last chapter of Part 4. Please leave as many reviews for me as you can before the end of the world! *boohoo...***

**As NooShoak kindly pointed out, if the world DOESN'T end tomorrow, then we'll know that the Dragonborn stopped Alduin :D To support the Dragonborn, go and listen to The Dragonborn Comes either in Skyrim by a bard or on YouTube by Malukah (excellent singer)  
**

**But enough of me. Here we are, chapter forty-eight:  
**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight

"Aela."

I looked up from where I lay, relaxed, leaning against the wall with book in hand.

"Yes, Skjor? What is it?" I snapped the book shut and indicated for him to sit down beside me. "What's up?"

"I'm not exactly sure if you're going to like it or not..." Skjor sat down beside me.

"Come on," I scoffed. "Hardly anything's dampened my spirits since the World-Eater's death."

Skjor flashed me a glance. "Apart from not hearing one single murmur about the Dragonborn since. People are starting to think she's dead. Or she's gone from Skyrim. She's been very quiet."

My mind flashed back to the time when I had seen her riding on that dragon's neck, riding off towards the Rift. From what I had heard, the last people ever to have seen the pair reported that the dragon had flown into the mountains, where the mist had rolled thickly over the craggy peaks, and vanished from view.

"Setting aside that," I said, turning back to Skjor, "What's the news?"

"The Silver Hand." Skjor narrowed his eye. "They've been reported to be back in business in Skyrim again."

I froze. Barely a week after the World-Eater had been destroyed, the Silver Hand...they had come? So many years later, and my task was drawing near? My hand went to the amulet, slung around my throat. My fingers traced the smooth, curving outline of the wolf's head. Did Hircine know this? Of course he would; my Father was a Daedric Prince. He'd know everything.

I had done as he asked. I had not once dared enter the Communal again, and promised myself that I wouldn't until my task was complete. I had killed Orgmund. His spirit ran wild in the skies now. And soon I would complete my Father's other task. Panjor's death. And then Skjor and I could be together. We could finally be together without fear from damnation from our Lord.

"Whereabouts?" I asked softly.

Skjor frowned. "We're not certain. All that we know is that travellers coming to Whiterun have reported seeing strange mercenaries on the road, who are on the hunt for werewolves. And these mercenaries, they say, bearing the most unusual weapons, have been reported from as far as Haafingar to the Rift. And all points in between. Particularly around Falkreath."

"Shit," I murmured softly.

_Farewell, daughter of the moon._

Panjor's words rang in my head. My hands curled into fists at the even eternal mention of that name, the name which had torn apart my heart.

And then I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder, and I looked into Skjor's warm gaze. And I knew that I was safe. I was beside the man I loved. I was beside the man who had healed my torn heart. Who had called me back, urgently, desperately, from the brink of death. Who was determined to uphold the promise we made. And even now, I could still hear those words, echoing in my mind.

_We hunt together, and forever. Until death part us, and reunite us._

"Soon, the man who struck you the hardest will be dead," said Skjor quietly. "And then we will be at peace at last. Nobody will be able to prove the Companions' beastblood to the world."

I leaned my head on his shoulder as he sat down beside me. "That'll be a nice thought, wouldn't it? All these years of fighting, of torment...finally over."

I picked up the book again.

"What have you been reading?" inquired Skjor casually, leaning against the brickwork behind us. "You've never struck me as a scholar."

"So what have I struck you as?"

"A very attractive young woman."

"Very funny. I've been looking over Ysgramor. The Night of Tears." I closed the book again, suddenly not interested in reading it at all. "Just a bit of light reading, what to do when I'm feeling a little bored."

"You, bored?" Skjor chuckled. "Lost your love for hunting, Aela?"

"Certainly not," I snapped. "Gods, I couldn't _live_ without hunting. But you know that I can't get out and about very often. But, you know, things have been pretty quiet since Alduin was destroyed." I suddenly chuckled. "It's incredible, how fast bards can compose songs when they put their minds to it. Already their newest fireside song 'The Tale of the Tongues' have reached our halls."

As well as singing The Dragonborn Comes every night since Alduin's destruction, to honour the Dragonborn's victory, we had spent the last few nights learning from Torvar and Athis The Tale of the Tongues, which they had both picked up down in the Bannered Mare where it was being sung by Mikael the town bard. Some of us were surprised by Athis; the Dunmer had always been a little quiet to himself, often singing loudly songs in his own language rather than translating it into the common speech for us. And he certainly had shown very little interest in Nord songs, unlike Ria the Imperial, who thoroughly enjoyed singing classic Nord fireside songs (Ragnar the Red was her favourite, as it was everyone's). But he and Torvar had become fast friends over the events with the Dragonborn over the past several months. It was quite hard to believe that the dragon uprising had only really begun in Last Seed, just last year, and in a few short months, it was all over.

For me, not yet. I knew that though my heart ached whenever I thought of Panjor, what he had done to me, anger surged over the loss. He had killed me. And he would pay with his life.

He had returned to Skyrim. This I knew. He had tired of running and hiding from me. And he was preparing himself to strike. I would be ready for him. This time, I would not fall into a trap. I would walk on its edges, and lay a trap of my own. Where he would be caught. And where I would approach him.

And where I would be the one to kill him.

The wolf inside of me smiled with savage pleasure.

And I had a feeling I was going to enjoy it.

* * *

The tenth of Morning Star. I smiled. Ah, the peace of Jorrvaskr since Alduin's death couldn't last even for ten days. Ten flipping days. But it was quite amusing to watch Njada and Athis argue – this time over whether frost trolls or frostbite spiders were more fearsome to face in a dark tunnel deep underground. Personally, I didn't give one shit which was fearsome to face. Both were terrifying up front, particularly if that one was about as large as a mammoth and quite intent on eating you. When you had been poisoned and nearly paralyzed by one as a younger woman. With only two nineteen-year-old whelps at your back to protect you. But they were damned good warriors, nonetheless.

Frost trolls, at least, let you know that they were coming. Spiders were sneaky, and they could spit from afar, a chilling mind-numbing poison that could leave a target relaxed and cold in mere minutes, or seconds, depending on the strength of the poison gob. To be attacked from the shadows is always more frightening and dangerous for any warrior because they can't see where the danger is. How to protect themselves from it. In open combat, they can see their enemy's every move.

I felt privileged I knew how to both strike from the shadows and to attack directly. A good thing about being a huntress, I guessed; always go for the prize. And eradicate any who stand in the way.

The difference between me and a common bandit is that bandits are desperate. Me? I have a choice.

For some people, there is always a choice. For others, there is never.

And it made me wonder why Njada and Athis were wasting so much energy and time arguing about completely pointless things when they could be arguing about things that actually _mattered_. But no, it had to be about trolls and spiders.

And because this argument was now becoming very amusing, nearly every single member of the Companions was up here, listening to the argument they were pretty sure was going to get violent. Farkas leaned casually near one of the windows where golden sunshine was spilling through, and catching on his shiny steel armour. Ria and Torvar sat on a bench near the table. Even old Vignar was here, speaking quietly with his manservant, Brill. Even though that old Gray-Mane was too old to be an active warrior any longer, Kodlak still called his old friend an Honorary Companion, and Vignar seemed to take to this title quite highly. He slept downstairs in the sixth-Circle-member's room, along with Brill, who slept on a bedroll on the floor.

Tilma was casually dusting the fragments of Wuuthrad, hung carefully up in their mountings. Over the many years that had passed, we Companions had scoured and searched and uncovered so many more pieces of Wuuthrad. Now we were only two pieces short from completing the entire collection, and we looked forward to the day when we could complete it at last with great excitement. Eorlund had mentioned to us several times that the weapon could be forged again, if he had all the pieces.

Speaking of which, I wondered if he had finished making my shield yet. I had placed an order for him recently and paid him for the costs. Since I was actually heading towards a frost troll cavern, on a contract from the people of Dawnstar to clear out, I figured it'd be good to have a shield in defense of those flailing, stone-like fists.

Why couldn't Njada and Athis be worrying about Wuuthrad being remade instead of arguing about damned creatures that I had killed more of than skeevers?

"Trolls are very powerful," snapped Njada. "One blow from one of their fists and they'd have your neck broken. And that's if you're lucky. Plus, they can heal themselves. Without the use of any kind of magic to help themselves recover from injuries!"

"But if they weren't hurt in the first place, there's no point in having a self-healing factor in the blood, is there?" Athis retorted. "That's what the frostbite spiders are so good at. They don't have to get hurt in the first place. They strike from the shadows, and that's what makes them so much more dangerous than a troll. You don't know when or where they're going to strike!"

Njada folded her arms across her chest. "Since when have _you_ been such an expert on matters regarding open combat, _Elf?_"

Oh, brother. Here we go again.

"I have always done open combat," snarled Athis. "Fooling the opponent is not dishonourable!"

"Running and hiding in the shadows until their guard drops is dishonourable enough for me," said Njada smugly.

Athis's fists clenched. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"Aren't I calling you a coward?"

With a wild scream of some unfathomable word in Dunmeris, Athis leapt on Njada, and once more slammed his fists across Njada's face. Blood splashed down her face but she barely seemed to notice that her nose was broken. She swung around hard, slamming Athis hard in the jaw so he stumbled backwards, rubbing the dark purple bruise that was welling quickly up beneath his nose.

"Are those two at it again?" inquired Farkas, as he eagerly pushed himself up off his bench and raced towards where the two whelps were intent on killing each other. Already cheering, the rest of the Companions hurried towards where Athis and Njada, once again, brawled.

I smiled to myself, but didn't move from my current position. I had a pretty good view from where I sat. Vaguely I wondered where Skjor had gone. He had muttered something about going to his room, but he's been down there for hours. I was considering going to fetch him. And Vilkas, he had gone down to the undercroft only a few minutes before Njada's and Athis's argument first kindled between them. He seemed troubled, restless, shadows beneath his eyes. I was pretty sure he was going to go and speak with Kodlak.

Vilkas had always cared affectionately for Kodlak, as had Farkas. They treated the Harbinger not just as their leader amongst the Circle, but like their father. And Kodlak was closer to the twins than he was to anyone else in Jorrvaskr; he treated them like his sons. I was glad that Vilkas and Farkas had been allowed to stay here in Jorrvaskr, all those years ago. I remembered with a small twist to my heart how helpless they had been then, able to be defeated by a few juniper berries and their own innocence, but determined to get away from the horrible life they had experienced in Honourhall Orphanage. How Samiith and I had first run into Vilkas, when he had been an underfed, undersized and scruffy little boy, desperate to help his brother.

_It's really remarkable how quickly their lives changed when they came here at last,_ I thought with a small smile to myself, as I watched Farkas eagerly cheer Njada on. Ria called out to Athis, "Take her down! Get her in the gut!"

"Kick her in the leg!" Torvar added. "The knee, if you can!"

"Real funny, Torvar!" snarled Athis, as he reeled over from a kick somewhere near his groin area. But he straightened up and slammed his fist into Njada's chest. With a gasp the Nord warrior fell backwards a few steps, and Athis at once was upon her. But Njada was tough; she was appropriately named. In three stunning blows she had sent Athis into a light daze, the slender Dunmer staggering away from her and grabbing a nearby bench for support.

"Had enough?" inquired Njada.

"Never!" Athis hurled himself at the startled Njada.

I rolled my eyes, grinning slightly to myself as I watched the brawl continue. "One of these days, those two are going to kill each other," I muttered, half to myself.

"Trust me," said a voice behind me, "I've seen worse, between a certain Imperial and Nord."

I frowned slightly, and looked over my shoulder – and found myself staring at the most awful face I had seen in existence.

The face was sharply outlined, the cheekbones high, the chin tapered at the point. Once, this woman could have looked pretty. But...she looked nothing short of a nightmare now. Her eyes were black and empty-looking, and made me think of dark tunnels. The hair was as black as the empty-looking eyes. Terrible scars slashed and ripped across her face, made by some creature I didn't even want to try and picture. The scars had healed, but they still made looking at this woman a hard sight.

For a moment, I stared, shocked, at the woman. And then quickly I composed myself.

"I'm sorry," I said apologetically to her. "You just startled me."

To my relief, the woman just dipped her head. "I've had worse reactions." Her voice...it sounded familiar. Faintly familiar. But the voice was rough, husky, as though she had been breathing in too much smoke. She looked up at me, and said, "Don't you even recognize me?"

I stared. I had not once seen this woman in my life.

"I didn't think you would," sighed the woman. "Pity. I was hoping you of all people would remember me. We met at least twice."

"Sorry. Either my mind is doing a blank or I just don't recognize you," I said to her. "What is your name?"

The woman snorted. "You think I'm just going to give it to you there and then? Too easy; I'll give you a hint. Seventeenth of Last Seed. Two years ago."

I frowned, casting my mind back, trying to remember. "That was...the day that the dragon attacked Helgen, wasn't it?"

"Good. You're getting close."

"And the day the giant attacked the farm."

"Definitely."

Then I stopped. The woman. A stranger, covered with burns, wearing ragged Stormcloak armour, leaping out into the fray, where the giant had been about to crush Ria beneath its foot. How her arrow had flown through the air beside my own. How she had turned towards me. How we had spoken.

But...it couldn't be...

And then I softly murmured, "Alyssa?"

The woman gave a single nod, confirming her name.

"But..." She was completely unrecognizable. What had happened to her brown hair? Her green eyes? Where had she received all of those scars? "Are you sure it's really you? You're not an assassin playing a mind-trick on me?"

Alyssa narrowed her dark eyes. "Yes, it's really me."

"I'm sorry, it's just...what _happened_ to you?" I asked at last, getting over my astonishment.

"What, this?" Absently Alyssa's fingers brushed against the deep scarring on her face and her nightblack hair, and she shrugged. "Well, let's just say I kind of pissed off the wrong...thing. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it."

I nodded. "I understand." I had plenty of things I didn't want to talk about, either. "But then why are you here? You haven't been called back to Dragonsreach to fight another dragon? Because the Dragonborn killed the World-Eater several days ago."

"I know." Alyssa frowned slightly. "I could see the auroras. And I heard the dragons rejoice. Who didn't, that night on Throat of the World?" She straightened up slightly and added, "No, actually, I've come here to take up on your offer, if you're still willing to have me with the Companions."

I was at first surprised, but then I simply nodded and said, "About time you showed up. Took you a year and...five months? Six? Anyway, well over a year for you to finally make up your mind."

Alyssa chuckled. "Oh, trust me, Aela, I've been busy as hell."

"Doing what?"

"My new job, down in Riften." A crafty gleam came into Alyssa's eyes. "And in Winterhold, and Falkreath. The money's good, but nearly all the time I'm on my own, doing things."

Her black eyes, so fathomless, so empty-looking, seemed to light up with content. "So I decided to see what life as a Companion would be like. How it felt doing tasks, knowing that someone had your back? I hope you're still recruiting."

I nodded. "Of course. Head downstairs into the undercroft. Kodlak will be in his room at the far end of the hall."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and one more thing," I added, lightly grabbing her arm as she passed me so she stopped. "You'll be tested for strength against one of the members of the Circle. To make sure that you have enough strength in battle to make it into becoming one of us."

_A werewolf?_ A nasty little voice in my mind hissed.

_Don't think that._ I pushed the voice away.

For a moment, Alyssa stared at me. And then she gave a soft, rueful laugh.

"I should have expected as much," she chuckled. "If any of you had any idea what I've been through..."

Still softly laughing, she headed obligingly towards the undercroft, at the same moment Athis let out a yelp of pain and fell over onto his back, and Njada roared in triumph, lifting bloody fists and punching the air while the others applauded.

For a moment, I was puzzled at what Alyssa meant. Was it how her appearance had dramatically changed? What creature had somewhat torn her face apart?

Then I shrugged, and decided that I'd probably find out from her, sooner or later, when she was more settled in with the Companions.

* * *

Skjor looked up as I entered his quarters.

"Where have you been?" I inquired, as I came into his room.

"Here," Skjor replied, looking up with a grin. I saw that he had my amulet in his hands.

"I thought you told me you'd never take it off," I said to him. "What's up with it? It hasn't broken, has it? I only gave it to you two weeks ago."

"Nah, it's not broken. I was just admiring its beauty."

Skjor held it up, so the candlelight in his quarters caught on the shined steel. "I'm still amazed that Eorlund can twist simple lumps of metal into something so beautiful," he said, as he lowered the amulet around his neck again.

"Well, while you've been mooning over a stag's head made of metal, things have become quite interesting in Jorrvaskr," I said, as I sat down opposite Skjor.

"Oh, yes? What happened? I heard noises up above. Athis and Njada having a brawl?"

"Not just that. Do you remember Alyssa?"

Skjor frowned for a moment, recollecting his thoughts, before saying, "She was that woman who helped out with the giant problem a couple years back, wasn't she?"

I nodded. "Well, she's in Kodlak's room right now, asking to be a member of the Companions."

"Oh, is she?" Skjor pushed himself up off his feet. "I'll go and say hi to her."

"Probably not the best idea," I said, quickly leaping up from my chair and lightly grabbing his arm. "She's...changed, in appearance, since we last saw her."

"Really? What's happened? Did she get a scar?" Skjor looked back, now amused. "Did she lose an eye?"

"Ha ha ha. It's a little more serious than that." Quietly I explained to Skjor about Alyssa's facial changes, and I saw the amusement die from his eyes and total shock come across instead.

"And she's not a werewolf, is she?" he frowned.

"She doesn't bear the scent of one," I replied. "She's whole and pure, far as I'm concerned when it comes to possessing the beastblood or not." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Whatever did that to her, we'd best be careful of it. I don't think it was just a bear."

Skjor narrowed his eye. "Probably a necromancer of some sort. I guess we'll find out from her soon enough, should she stay with the Companions."

I heard footsteps echo in the corridor outside and I immediately knew that it was Vilkas who was going to go and test Alyssa's arm. I felt slightly sorry for her. Going up against the brains of Ysgramor was about as dangerous as going against his brawn, Farkas, who was currently in his quarters after the excitement of Njada's and Athis's twenty-seventh brawl (my guess; Skjor thought he'd counted thirty-two).

"Do you know of this Alyssa's strengths?" Skjor asked, leaning against the wall and half-closing his eyes.

"Archer," I replied at once. I had seen the quiver slung over her back and the bow hung over her shoulders. A bow with beautiful insignias just above the hilt, of a bird with its wings reaching up towards the moon. And now that I thought of it, didn't the arrows look like they were made of ebony?

If they were, I'd have to ask her where she got them.

Skjor chuckled. "Seems like you've got competition, Aela."

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed. "I've been with the Companions for decades. Wherever she's been, she can't have possibly had any more experience than I."

"You know, it'd be interesting to find out what this woman has been doing before she came to join the Companions." Skjor shrugged his shoulders. "Always interesting to find out the backstories of our Brothers and Sisters. Now _yours_, I know well."

"Yes, an ambitious little girl from Rorikstead wanting to become wealthy and famous. Well, I've done those two things, so I'm content living here until I grow old and my hairs fall out." I froze, realizing what I had just said. How obviously I had lied. How could I be content? How could I _ever_ be content without Skjor beside me? When Panjor was still out in the wilderness, biding his time, waiting to kill me for good?

Skjor looked at me, a slight frown creasing his face.

"Content?" he repeated, sounding almost indignant, rising from where he leaned against the wall and approaching me, a mysterious hunger glittering in his eye. "How could you _ever_ be content?"

He was echoing my thoughts. Perhaps he could sense it in my eyes.

"I don't think I'd ever be able to stand living one day without your wit in Jorrvaksr, Aela Huntress," Skjor murmured, gently taking my hands and looking solemnly into my eyes. "Or your loyalty and friendship to the mead hall."

Softly I laughed. "Anything else?"

"Everything else," said Skjor, his voice a low murmur. He stroked one hand across my russet hair and breathed, "Do you remember my best New Life Festival gift which I received? The night when the skies were lit up and rejoiced with the rest of the province at the fall of Alduin?"

"Clearly," I said. That lovely warm feeling was trickling through my blood again. The wolf within me pricked its ears and watched keenly through my eyes.

"That night, when my whole life suddenly began to go faster," Skjor continued. His voice was so seducing, so seductive, that I found myself leaning forward. Slowly, but surely. "Whenever I'm near you, you smell of the wilderness. Of holly and heather and the grass. And the wolf calls for you. You are my desire, Aela. Nothing else will sate it."

"So it's not a Bloodlust driving you forward?" I asked softly.

Skjor smiled. "If it were, I'd be afraid to hurt you."

"You, afraid, Skjor? You sound most unlike yourself."

"Well, perhaps I'm not myself."

A slight cough issued from the doorway. Skjor and I sprang apart as though the sound had been brass being dropped on stone, and whipped around. Alyssa leaned casually against the doorway and had her eyes half-closed.

"Much as I'm sorry to intrude on this...little warm romantic moment...I have a delivery I need to make."

"You're making a really good impression on your first day here," I said irritably to Alyssa. "Well, what is this special delivery?"

"Pity. It _was_ for _you_." Alyssa, grinning, held up my shield.

Inwardly I slumped. But I walked forward anyway and took the shield off her. It felt good in my grasp, and privately I was glad that Eorlund had finally managed to get the shield completed. But then he had to give it back when I was in a rather intimate moment with my lover. "Thanks," I said obligingly. "So, you made it into being a whelp, huh?"

Alyssa chuckled. "Of course. I've faced worse. A lot worse. And come clean."

Then she narrowed her eyes and glanced at Skjor and said, "Perhaps when you've finished goggling at my appearance, perhaps you could tell me what I am to do next?"

I frowned at Skjor. He was staring at Alyssa, all right, completely speechless. But as she spoke, he composed himself and said, "My apologies. I did not mean to be impolite."

Alyssa shrugged, and straightened up.

"There's something I have to know," I commented suddenly. If she wasn't going to willingly tell us about her past, then I'd get some basic truths from her. "Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?"

Alyssa frowned thoughtfully. "Most likely," she said, "He would die before he reached his sword."

I wasn't quite sure what to make of this statement. If she was facing Vilkas in a real fight, I think she'd be dead before she could reach _her_ weapon.

"Headstrong, aren't you?" Skjor commented.

"No," replied Alyssa, looking dead into his eye. "Truthful."

Skjor frowned slightly. "Wherever you've come from," he said firmly. "Whatever you've been doing, and wherever you've been travelling, Alyssa, you're in the Companions now. You are a whelp, and you show the members of the Circle a certain level of respect." He folded his arms. "And though we are grateful that you saved the life of Ria in Pelagia farm, you're still new blood to us, whelp. You get assignments from members of the Circle. That's me, Aela, and the twins."

Alyssa cocked one eyebrow. "And not Kodlak?"

"The Harbinger doesn't give out contracts anymore," I said. "We take it on ourselves to provide you with contracts. That's how it's been for the past several years, and that's probably how it's going to be until a new Harbinger steps up."

"Which is most likely going to be me," Skjor added.

"Congratulations." Alyssa only glanced for the briefest of moments at Skjor, before turning her fathomless eyes back to me, and she said, "So what am I to do first?"

I laughed inside as I saw the outraged expression on Skjor's face. _She's headstrong, all right,_ I thought. _I'm going to like her._ "We'll get you settled in first, I think, before we send you out on your first contract. We'll get Farkas to settle you in."

She'd remember him. She did. Her eyes lit up in recognition of that name.

Skjor frowned, still annoyed, but nonetheless called sharply, "Farkas!"

Inside, I privately counted, and then, roughly ten to eleven seconds later, Farkas appeared in the doorway, and grunted, "You called me?"

Alyssa turned around slightly, looking into the newcomer's face.

"Of course we did, icebrain," I said.

"Farkas, you're to take this new whelp to her new sleeping quarters, and to get her settled in," said Skjor, folding his arms.

Farkas was looking at Alyssa, and for a moment, I was afraid he was going to say something stupid. But instead, all he said was, "Oh, right. Come with me."

He hid his surprise better than I expected. Though I wondered how he would react when he learned he had already met her before.

He turned and disappeared from the doorway, and calmly, Alyssa walked out behind him.

When Skjor was quite sure that the pair was out of earshot, he turned incredulously to me and said, "Can you believe her nerve? She's fiery as the embers in a forge. Just as impertinent, too. She'll fit in fine around here. She was remarkably like you when you were younger, Huntress."

"Oh, was I really? Well, I'm an older and wiser woman now," I said, being unable to resist a grin. "It's good to see that someone is annoying you again, Skjor."

Skjor snorted. "Hmph. New blood. Hard to believe that once we were just like them, wasn't it?"

"Not really. I remember those days well. Until I found out the truth and you were forced to give me that charming moonlit present."

But that word, new blood...

Yes, it was true. Alyssa was new blood. But I could sense strength coming from her. I knew that she had plenty of experience fighting in the wilderness, even though I had not once seen her fight.

Something told me that she'd do more than just 'fit in' around here.

END OF PART FOUR

* * *

**A/N: *gives Alyssa a completely exasperated glare***

**Well, that's that. If the Dragonborn succeeds tomorrow, then I'll have the first chapter to the final and longest Part in The Huntress set up for you guys to enjoy. And Aela's quite right when she thinks Alyssa is going to do more than just fit in around Jorrvaskr. Poor Farkas is about to find that out in the Cairn *evil grin*  
**

**Thanks to all who have looked, followed, read and reviewed The Huntress. I am thoroughly glad that you are enjoying it so much.  
**


	50. Chapter 49 - Getting Acquainted

**A/N: Hi again, guys! Sorry I kept you waiting for so long. But down here it's Christmas Eve and yay! Christmas tomorrow! Most of you may have to wait a little longer, though :(**

**Anyway, here is the best Christmas present I can offer you guys: Chapter Forty-Nine!  
**

**Then I'll probably be offline for the next few days while it's all crazy Christmas time. In the meantime, enjoy!  
**

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PART FIVE: GLORY

Chapter Forty-Nine

"So how do things work here in Jorrvaskr?" inquired Alyssa.

I glanced at her from where I sat beside her at the table. Already we were soon to begin, and eyeing the food with great hunger. Skjor looked as though he were about to dive onto the roasted pig the moment Kodlak gave his approval for us to start eating. Most of the Companions were seated at the table now, and the warmth of the fire was welcoming.

"We usually gather here each night," I explained. "We eat and talk and sing a few songs. The Harbinger always makes a welcoming speech first, though, mostly commending any recent contracts done and then wishing us many fine kills in the future and then sitting back down again."

Alyssa nodded. "Hmm. Right."

I glanced at her. "What happened in Riften?"

She snapped a black-eyed stare at me. "What?"

"After you killed the giant in Pelagia farm, you went to Riften. You said that the place held good memories for you," I said. "I hope the Thieves Guild didn't give you any trouble?"

Alyssa looked uncertain for the briefest of moments. Then she simply said, "No, not much trouble." She paused, and then commented, "One of them tried to kill me."

I stared at her. "Honestly? You sure that person wasn't with the Dark Brotherhood?"

Alyssa shrugged. "I'm guessing he kind of was. I mean, most thieves don't kill. Well, apart from that brief organization of thieves in Eastmarch calling themselves the Summerset Shadows, but they mysteriously disappeared shortly after they founded themselves in the Hold. Some people say that the Thieves Guild got pissed at them and quietly disposed of them. But anyway, more about my would-be murderer. He was cunning, I'll grant him that. He went under the impersonation of him being my friend. We met up at Snow Veil Sanctum. He lured me into the depths of the ruins, and then stuck his sword into my chest."

I stared at Alyssa. The indifferent way she spoke of it, as though it had hardly mattered. "And...I'm assuming you didn't die," I said.

"Obviously not," said Alyssa. "It'd be chaos if I died now anyway, without sorting a few things out first."

_What does she mean?_ I thought.

But Alyssa went on as though she hadn't said anything peculiar. "Actually, a Dunmer woman saved my life. She nursed me back to health. In a way, I'm indebted to her. She helped me track down the man and I killed him in the depths of a Dwemer ruin."

_Kagrenzel._ The name flashed in front of my mind. Of Eiwen, lying upon the ground, clutching her chest, at the arrow embedded within, her eyes wide and seeing nothing, whispering to me to run and leave her, saying that the waters of the outside world would cleanse the Falmer poison from my body. _You will survive. You must survive, for the Companions' honour._

"Hey, Aela, you okay?" Alyssa's puzzled voice jolted me back into the present.

"Yes...fine," I replied quickly.

Alyssa looked as though for a moment she were about to ask, but seemed to think better of it, and just fell silent.

At that moment, Kodlak rose from his seat at the table, and the general friendly chatter died away.

"Tonight," Kodlak said in the silence, "we welcome new blood into the halls of Jorrvaskr." He turned to where Alyssa sat quietly beside me, and he solemnly lifted his flagon to her. "Welcome, Alyssa!"

"Welcome!" the Companions thundered in response, lifting their flagons in a kind of informal salute to their newest Shield-Sibling.

I lowered my own, to hear Kodlak bid us well and sit down. And we pounced on the foot and helped ourselves. I felt sympathetic to the other members of the Circle – with their enhanced senses of smell, the rich, succulent scents of meat must have been driving their inner wolves berserk.

I glanced at Alyssa. "Ever received a welcome quite like this?"

Alyssa smiled a little. "It's a nicer kind of welcome than some of the greetings I've had, I have to admit."

She helped herself to some food. For a while, there was nothing but contented, happy chatter at the table, and for a moment, I was strongly reminded of my own coming here, the night when they had celebrated my joining the Companions. And then I was surrounded by the ghosts of my friends. Memories tumbled one after the other in front of my eyes.

Kodlak was in his seat at the centre of the table. On either side of him were Taija, Samiith, Orgmund and Lemaat. All four were gone now, three dead, and one back in his homeland. Eiwen sat on one side of me and Skjor on the other side. Across the room were Aileen and Derrick. We'd have to watch out for our platters for Fang, who was probably a more cunning thief than the Thieves Guild put together...

I could even see Fang's hairy snout suddenly protrude beneath the table and go for the sliver of steak on my plate...

Wait a moment. I wasn't lost in nostalgia anymore. The touch of the dog was real.

And suddenly Alyssa looked down and said sharply, "Meeko! Heel!"

The dog sheepishly slunk out beneath the table – a rough-haired and lean-bodied gray wolfhound who sat down beside Alyssa, looked up at me with brown eyes, and barked in an apologetic manner.

"You have a dog?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes; I'm sorry, he's quite the thief at times," said Alyssa, frowning sternly at her dog, who lolled his tongue out happily and didn't look sorry at all. "But he's the most loyal companion that I've had with me yet."

"A _dog_ is your most loyal companion?"

Alyssa nodded. "Why? Do you find that amusing? Or odd?"

"A bit of both. You must have had hard times if you're relying on a dog to look after you," I said, and then I rethought my words and internally kicked myself. I must have sounded so heartless.

Meeko growled, flattening his ears.

"No, it's okay, boy, I understand," Alyssa said, and Meeko's growls subsided. She looked up at me. "Yes, it sounds odd. But Meeko's not your average hound."

I thought of Fang. Nor was he.

"Meeko's uncannily smart," said Alyssa. "He knows exactly when to be quiet, and when to attack. He's adapted his fighting moves so he can fight well with an archer. He's actually saved my life several times." Fondly, she patted her pet. "I picked him up in the woods just outside of Hjaalmarch on my way to Dragon Bridge. His old Nord master had died and he was more than willing to follow me. He's been with me for just over a year now."

Meeko wagged his tail.

"Dogs are allowed in Jorrvaskr, right?" asked Alyssa, suddenly anxious. "I mean, Farkas and Vilkas seemed all right with it. They even seemed to be a little taken with Meeko."

I nodded. "Don't worry, dogs are allowed in Jorrvaskr." _If they weren't, the Harbinger and the Circle would have to throw themselves out._ "And I can guess why the twins are so taken with Meeko already. Many years ago another dog took residence in Jorrvaskr."

Alyssa was surprised. "Really?"

My heart seemed to warm as I told Alyssa about the Breton twins and their hound, Fang. How he would go about stealing the meat off everyone's plates in the evenings, sneaking under the table and snatching pieces of seared slaughterfish, venison, beef, chicken...everything that was meaty would be a target for the greedy dog. He had accompanied Aileen everywhere. With a small, sad twist to my heart, I knew that Fang would be long dead by now, and I hoped that the Father of Manbeasts would welcome the dog into the Hunting Grounds, where he'd be running with his fellow canines after rabbits and pheasants.

Alyssa laughed. "Oh, Fang sounds just like Meeko. This brute can be just as cheeky as any thief," she said, but she fondly ruffled Meeko's fur and the hound barked happily, enjoying the attention. "But when he sees me in danger, you'd best be running far and fast. He can be surprisingly savage. He...proved that, to my would-be murderer last year."

"I believe you," I assured Alyssa. I had seen Fang when he had been angry. He'd bare his fangs and charge at anything that moved. My experience with Fang in the Reach particularly had engraved his ferocity into my memory. I looked towards the other members of the Circle, now the only living people who remembered Fang and the Bretons. Skjor caught me a glance where he sat beside Kodlak, and he nodded and grinned, and I guessed that his heart was content with the fact that there'd be a dog in Jorrvaskr again.

Alyssa was about to speak again when suddenly silence descended over the table.

She looked up, frowning slightly. "What's going on?"

"I can only guess," I remarked, as Athis and Torvar began to sing, and very quickly, we joined in singing with them the Tale of the Tongues.

_Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky._

_His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes._

_Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died._

_They burned and they bled, as they issued their cries._

As I was singing, I glanced over at Alyssa – and saw that her face had gone surprisingly rigid. She was looking at the Companions in a mixture of...it was difficult to say. She seemed to be hiding her emotions well. And I remembered then that she had been in Helgen. She had seen Alduin the World-Eater up close, and nearly had been killed by him. _This song must bring bad memories for her,_ I thought.

_We need saviors to free us, from Alduin's rage,_

_Heroes on the field, of this new war to wage!_

_And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world._

_Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled._

Alyssa still was silent. Perhaps she hadn't learned the lyrics to the Tale of the Tongues yet. But I realized that even Meeko had fallen silent beside her. Alyssa simply sat, and she listened, her eyes blank, and her thoughts somewhere else.

_But then came the Tongues, on that terrible day._

_Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray._

_And all heard the music, of Alduin's doom._

_The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um._

Alyssa's lips were twitching, forming words that held no sound, so I could not hear them, or recognize them. Did she know the song after all? Then suddenly she closed her eyes, and she seemed to just fall still as she listened to the last verse of the song sung proudly in Jorrvaskr, the words resonating in the hall.

_And so the Tongues freed us, from Alduin's rage._

_Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age._

_If Alduin is eternal, then eternity's done._

_For his story is over and the dragons are gone._

Everyone at the table then applauded. I smiled as I clapped. I loved that song. I could still remember that night when we had all seen the lights flash up on the top of the Throat of the World. When we had sung for the Dragonborn's victory.

Everyone clapped. Except for Alyssa.

She sat still as stone where she sat at the table, but she opened her eyes. Slightly concerned, I glanced at her and muttered, "You all right?"

"Yeah, fine," said Alyssa quietly. "Just...reliving some bad memories in Helgen, that's all."

She softly chuckled. "I never even realized that the world had made such a poetic tribute for...for the Dragonborn. It's quite lyrical. I think it'll stay in my mind for quite a while afterwards, though I've yet to learn the lyrics to this song."

"It's only fairly recent," I said. "Torvar and Athis spent a few nights teaching all of us the song."

Alyssa smiled. "Well, I'll think of it when I head south tomorrow."

I glanced at her. "You don't have a contract already, do you?"

"Yeah," said Alyssa. "Farkas offered to let me take care of a bandit problem holed up in Embershard Mine. So I accepted – I was meaning to head to Falkreath anyway, so I'll be gone for a day or two, perhaps longer."

I remembered that bounty letter delivered to the Companions by Falkreath's Jarl. Farkas had offered to handle that particular assignment. But I was a little surprised at Farkas for having given it straight out to the newest member of the Companions. _Athis and Njada have been growing too restless lately. So have Ria and Torvar. We need to get them a contract, and soon._ "You'll be all right?"

Alyssa chuckled. "Something tells me that I'll be more than all right."

I shrugged. "All right. Just don't drag yourself into Jorrvaskr bleeding like hell. It'll make an awful mess on the floor. Tilma doesn't appreciate bloodstains to scrub out of the wood."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind if I ever feel like bleeding," said Alyssa, with a rueful smile.

Gradually we began to sing the casual bard songs, Ragnar the Red and the Ages of either Aggression or Oppression – we didn't have a side in the war, so we didn't exactly care which Age we were singing about, though it was quite amusing at times. Half of Jorrvaskr would be singing Oppression, and then half of Jorrvaskr would be singing Aggression, so when we came to the second verse, it'd sound just like, "We'll drive out the Stoermpire and restore what we own..."

And when the best of us were feeling jolly and led another round of Tale of the Tongues, after we sang the first verse, I glanced over at Alyssa, to hear that she was softly murmuring a song of her own, a song in a language I thought I should recognize, and yet didn't, but which was haunting and melodic. It sounded like a kind of tribute to the Dragonborn.

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ek zin los vahriin,_

_wah dein, vokul, mahfaerak ahst vaal._

_Ahrk fin norak paal gran, fod nust hon zindro zan,_

_Dovahkiin, fah hin, kogaan mu draal._

* * *

Alyssa, it seemed, fitted in quite well in Jorrvaskr. She was tolerated by Skjor, enjoyed by the other whelps and befriended the members of the Circle. Farkas and Vilkas loved Meeko. Both had been quite taken with Fang as boys, and their love for dogs hadn't disappeared when they became lycanthropes. Perhaps Meeko could scent that there was a touch of the beast in the two twins, because he treated them in an unusually doglike manner which, fortunately, didn't rouse too much suspicion from the other whelps.

The days and weeks went by and she and I became friends. Gradually everyone grew used to seeing the awful scarring on her face and the emptiness of her eyes, and Alyssa relaxed into Jorrvaskr, though often she didn't stay in Whiterun, sometimes disappearing to nobody's memory and then appearing again a few days, or as much as a week, later.

Skjor was not impressed.

"She should be lingering around Jorrvaskr, not disappearing every few days," he said to me when this happened for the fourth time this Morning Star.

I simply shrugged. "She said that she had jobs in Falkreath, Winterhold and Riften. I guess she's pretty busy. At least she leaves Meeko here...most of the time."

The big grey warhound was adored by everyone, and quite loyal. Alyssa had even trusted him enough to go on a few contracts with the twins and with Njada. Sometimes, I wondered if Meeko was actually a werewolf with a human spirit. His intelligence was quite incredible. He'd look at someone and unnerve them with the level of wisdom in his eyes.

"He does that to anyone who's not used to him," Alyssa told me, whenever I mentioned this startling fact to her. "He's not exactly your _average_ wardog."

In early Sun's Dawn, she had won a lot of the Companions' respect. And I knew enough about Alyssa's character to know that she was pretty formidable in whatever she set her mind to. I can still clearly remember one afternoon when she and I decided, just for fun, to have an archery contest in the back yard of Jorrvaskr. Skjor, Farkas and Torvar were away on a contract somewhere in Haafingar – the trolls at this time of year really were giving everyone trouble, as were the wolves – and Athis was paying a visit to his sister in Dragonsreach, and Ria and Njada were taking a walk around Whiterun. Vilkas was again in conference with Kodlak, who had again taken to locking himself in his quarters. So Alyssa and I had the entire training ground to ourselves.

"A mug of Black-Briar mead to whoever scores the most bullseyes," I offered.

Alyssa grinned. "Deal."

We took turns. I went first, thinking that she needed to be shown how it was done. I drew my bow and readied the arrow, aimed, and effortlessly shot a bullseye.

"Not bad," commented Alyssa. "But it could be faster."

"Show me, then."

Alyssa nodded. She drew her bow.

With the speed of a striking snake, she had pulled out an arrow, readied it to the bowstring, aimed, and fired. A dead bullseye.

She lowered and turned to me. "How fast was that, Huntress?"

"Pretty fast," I said, grudgingly. I turned back to my target, and swiftly drew an arrow, readying it to the bowstring, and firing. The arrow thudded into place beside my other one.

I had barely turned around when Alyssa's second arrow shot into the target. Nearly splitting her first arrow.

"I could have done it, you know," Alyssa said, as though reading my mind. "But ebony arrows are expensive. And I can't exactly afford to waste them. Not these days, at least."

I frowned. "Ebony? So they are ebony?"

She nodded.

"Where do you get those?" I asked her.

"From a smithy," she replied, turning to me. "They're damned expensive, more so than I remember they were in Cyrodiil."

I cocked an eyebrow. "From what I remember, they're fifteen septims for a single arrow at most smithy's stores. Too expensive even for me and the modest income I make."

Alyssa softly laughed. "I suppose being Gui—associated with the right people has its benefits," she said. "And my old line of work was pretty prosperous itself."

I frowned slightly. "What _was_ your old line of work?"

Alyssa released a third arrow, thudding in the hair's breadth space between her previous two. "Let's just say that in my old line of work, it's both immensely dangerous and extremely profitable. I have plenty of septims stashed away currently in Honeyside, and I have a steady income. I have enough to get myself plenty of ebony arrows. The best kind of arrows there are in Skyrim."

I loosed a third arrow. It thudded in the bullseye, an inch above the first arrow I had fired. "They are the best. I've been using steel arrows for years and years, though, and they've worked pretty all right for me."

"And those arrows are better than the standard steel arrows that guards and general mercenaries carry with them," Alyssa commented, drawing the bowstring back from the hilt of the bow, a sleek black ebony arrow readied. "Eorlund makes them, doesn't he? Up at the Skyforge."

"You won't find better steel anywhere else in Tamriel," I said. I watched as her fourth arrow whipped through the air, landing pretty much on top of her three other arrows, so it formed a small diamond shape in the centre of the target. "You're a pretty good shooter, Alyssa. You and I should go out hunting sometime."

Alyssa softly laughed. "I think I've had enough hunting to last a lifetime."

I waited for her to elaborate. But she didn't. Instead, she just slung her bow over her shoulders and went to fetch her ebony arrows. She glanced at me and said, "I think we both know who that mead belongs to tonight, by the way."

I frowned. "Unlikely." I released my own arrow, and it thudded in between the three others. "How about we call it a draw?"

Alyssa paused for a moment, and then she laughed and said, "Fair enough, I suppose."

* * *

On the fourth of Sun's Dawn, Alyssa was given another contract, this time to hunt down an escaped prisoner some way far up north in Winterhold. We had expected her to be gone for a week, perhaps more. But instead, she returned, three days later, tired out but content, and holding a small bag of gold from the Jarl of Winterhold who had presented it to her.

"How did you get back here so quickly?" Skjor asked incredulously.

"I have a fast horse," Alyssa replied lightly.

I frowned slightly at her. "I didn't know you had a horse."

"Well, now you do," said Alyssa, smiling slightly. She turned to Skjor. "Actually, I need to say that I'll need to be heading out again. Urgent matters in Falkreath."

Skjor narrowed his eye. "What 'urgent matter' would this be?"

"A matter which is urgent, but not in my authority to inform you what it is," said Alyssa, and her voice had grown sharp. "I'm leaving anyway, so I thought it'd be nice for you to know, so you don't wonder what's happened when I suddenly disappear."

At her heels, Meeko let out a bark, wagging his tail.

"I'll leave Meeko here, if it's any consolidation to you," remarked Alyssa to Skjor. "I'll be gone for at least a day. And I'll be back here sometime tomorrow."

I chuckled at Skjor's outraged expression. "No point arguing with her, Skjor," I remarked. We both knew that Alyssa was quite determined, and dead certain in whatever she said. "I think you know that after a month of her being in our halls."

Alyssa turned to her dog. "Meeko, stay."

Meeko let out a disappointed bark, then wandered away from his mistress's side, padding towards where a group of Companions were chatting with one another.

As Alyssa turned to leave, I suddenly had an idea. "Mind if I walk with you?"

Alyssa turned around, slightly surprised.

"I'm on my way out to hunt now, actually," I said. "There's only one way out of Whiterun." _At least, only one _known_ way out of Whiterun..._

Alyssa nodded. "Sure."

We left Jorrvaskr and headed down through the streets, beneath the beautiful Gildergreen, looking as magnificent as it had done when it had been restored last year, past the houses and the manors, down to the Plains District and the shops. As we headed around the Drunken Huntsman, the guard on duty near the gate suddenly looked up, his attention focused on Alyssa, even though I couldn't see his face. But I knew by the way he suddenly stiffened that he was watching her.

She glanced at him. She nodded.

"Delgar," she said.

The guard dipped his head courteously to Alyssa. I found myself glancing uncertainly between Alyssa and the guard. They seemed to know each other. And I was certain that the guard was gazing at Alyssa very respectfully.

The moment we were out of the gates and walking towards the stables, I asked her. "You two seemed to know each other."

Alyssa let out a soft laugh. "We would, wouldn't we? I saved his life."

"How?"

"Do you remember, all the way back in Last Seed last year, how Irileth and I and a cohort of guards went to the western watchtower?"

I nodded. "That dragon came back, didn't it?"

"Yeah." Alyssa smiled ruefully. "The dragon had set a trap for us. We walked right into it. The guard back there, Delgar, he was hiding in the watchtower, a sole survivor of the dragon attack there. And even though he was wounded, we fought the dragon."

"Together?"

"There were eight other Whiterun guards and Irileth. Not really. Plus I was on horseback."

I stared at her. "Horseback? You fought a dragon on horseback?"

"Not that difficult," said Alyssa. "I've been with Warrior for just under a year at the time. He and I have been through as much experiences together as I have with Meeko."

I frowned slightly. _Warrior? What kind of name is..._

We approached the stables, and immediately I understood why Alyssa had called her horse that.

The stablemaster, Sable-Hilt, had only one horse for sale, a lean black mare who was thought to be the daughter of Skjor's old horse, Eve. The black mare was called Queen Alfsigr, or just Allie, as he enjoyed pointing out to anyone who questioned about the state and fitness of the mare. And stabled right beside Allie was another horse – a horse a stormy dappled grey, with a big streak of white down his face, and jet-black hair. He was huge, and he lifted his head sharply as Alyssa and I drew near the stables, and let out a shrill whinny.

"Yes, it's me, boy," Alyssa chuckled, as she headed towards the stable at a swifter pace.

The moment she reached him, the horse put down his mighty head and nuzzled her fondly, letting out a snicker which could almost be translated into: "So, where are we heading now?"

"Aela," said Alyssa, glancing over her shoulder briefly as she led her stallion out. "This is Warrior. He's been mine since Heartfire two years ago."

And I could definitely understand why she called her horse Warrior. Ancient battle scars marred the horse's once-smooth dappled hide, across his throat, shoulders, legs, muzzle. He didn't look grizzled, still a gelding, five or six years old at the most, but that same uncanny wisdom gleamed in his rolling black eyes, the same wisdom that I often saw in Meeko's eyes.

Alyssa chuckled and patted her horse. "He's been a mighty good warrior. That's the reason I named him that. I often thought of another name for Warrior, but nothing else kind of fitted with his kindred spirit."

She smiled, perhaps reliving old memories. "When Meeko, Warrior and I travel together, and we're threatened, we fall into the same fighting stance. Meeko diverts, Warrior carries, and I defend the three of us from whatever danger we face. Meeko knows how to keep out of the way of weapons and my arrows. I've trained him myself."

"That's...impressive," I said.

The horse lifted his head and snorted through a velvety muzzle, regarding me almost imperiously, and flicking back his ears. I was reminded of Stormy. Perhaps this horse, Warrior, was a descendant of the old stallion which I had ridden a few times in my days as a younger Companion.

Alyssa gently grasped his reins and pulled him forward. Obligingly, Warrior trotted after her. He was in excellent shape and condition. Though he wasn't beautiful, I had a feeling that Warrior could run as fast as the wind, and was as formidable as a sabre cat. When he reached the road, Alyssa swung lightly up into the bearskin saddle and adjusted the reins. Warrior stood quietly, though he half-turned his head towards me.

"Do you ride much?" asked Alyssa.

"No," I replied truthfully. I hadn't ridden a horse since Fagrenzel.

Alyssa chuckled. "So how do you get to the distant reaches?"

"I walk. Bit tiresome, though." _But not nearly as tiresome as it should be._ Within me, the wolf growled and muttered its thirst for blood and flesh, and I knew that I'd have to go hunting late into the evening tonight to satisfy its hunger. I was about to wish Alyssa off when I had a strange feeling that I had seen this horse somewhere before...there was definitely something familiar about the way the horse held himself, with the rider upon his back...but I couldn't place my mind on the memory.

Alyssa smiled. "I'm sorry for you. Travel goes by much swifter when you have a loyal steed under you."

She gave Warrior a firm nudge with her boots, and I watched as the grey stallion leapt forward as though bitten by a skeever. His mane and tail streaming behind him, I found myself watching as the scarred old stallion galloped down the road, heading towards the southern path towards Riverwood.

There was a familiar way that Warrior ran, too. But again, I couldn't place my memory on it.

I turned and headed north, planning to go hunting towards Half Moon Camp. I had heard that there were some bandits camping there. But I paused and glanced curiously back at Alyssa.

I had learned already quite a bit about this woman who had intrigued me the moment she leapt into the battle and fought that giant, saving Ria's life. But what interested me the most was her close connection with her two pets. Her two beasts, doomed one day to go to the Hunting Grounds.

_And perhaps, one day, so will she,_ murmured the wolf.

Perhaps...

I wondered distantly if Alyssa was related to the Bosmer. Most Nords didn't care extravagantly for their pets. They didn't often give their dogs or horses much regard, unless it would be profitable for them. And then again, most Nords weren't raised in Cyrodiil, either.

I was certain that there was more to Alyssa that met the eye. Not just her unusual name, or her connection with her animals...no, it had to be something even deeper than that.

And I promised myself that I would one day find out.

* * *

**A/N: You know, it's true. When I'm being Alyssa for real in Skyrim, I actually do call my horse Warrior, and my dog Meeko, and I am close to both my animals. I just love them, for some reason, with this deep connection that I'm really going to enjoy writing more of.**

**And honestly, I was trying to think of a name for my grey horse from Riften, and Warrior was the first name that flashed up in my head, and I thought, 'Nah, let's do something more interesting'...and then I came to realize that Warrior was the only name that was going to suit that wonderous stallion of mine :D**

**Oh, and about the poll, to make it fair, I've posted a short description of each of the poll choices at the end of my profile. Please check, and PLEASE do the poll! (that is, if you have not done so already) You can make three selections. And please, as always, rate the chapter with a nice review :)  
**


	51. Chapter 50 - The Lost Brother

**A/N: Here we are at last! Yes, I'm sorry it took a week to do this, but I was enjoying a small holiday break. I'll try to be more consistent in the future. And I just want to say a huge thanks! Yay, I've had nearly 900 views for the prologue, I'm so happy. Thank you to all those who have reviewed :)**

**Anyways, enough of me: here is chapter fifty. Who is this Lost Brother, I wonder...?  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifty

The wolves pounded across the wilderness, their paws churning over the grass. At the top of the rise, they skidded to a halt, lifted their snouts to the air and howled to the twin moons that rose high above, the moonshine giving one of the wolves endless energy, a passion to keep hunting, to hunt for eternity. My voice sounded along with Skjor's, allowing the wilderness to know that the true hunters of the world have emerged upon the prairie again.

_Hunt, we must hunt, feed us with blood,_ I growled.

Skjor's bright bronze eye gleamed with hunger. Together we pounded down across the slopes, as fast as the wind, swifter than any running horse, the wind streaming through our fur.

Red overtook my vision as I smelled the scent of an elk beyond. I only remembered hearing its frightened braying, before everything, for a moment, is lost as I allowed the feral side of me to take over. When I next gather my consciousness, I was crouched over the elk's corpse, my snout already burrowed into the silky flesh and the crimson blood.

Skjor hada wild look in his eye as he tore away a limb from the elk, sinking his fangs into the flesh and ripping it from the bone.

_A fine hunt,_ he growled between mouthfuls.

_Hircine smiles upon us this night,_ I heard the wolf snarl in response. I lowered my mouthful and raised my voice to the moon once more. Skjor joined me, a wild, thrumming howl that roard around the countryside as loudly as the thunder of a storm.

And then we heard another call—distant, but sure, one that we do not recognize.

A distant werewolf's howl, gliding over the plains. As though in answer to our roars.

I pricked my ears, determining if I could recognize the howl. Was it Farkas? Vilkas? Kodlak, even? No; the twins and the Harbinger never seemed to transform anymore. The hunger in their eyes never appeared, the lust for a hunt never showing anymore. Whenever I asked Vilkas if he wished to accompany me on a hunt, as he once did as a younger man, he simply shakes his head and looks away, or changes the subject, or makes an excuse which I can see through and he knew it.

Farkas, of course, never showed much interest or talent in hunting.

_Where does this pack-brother howl?_ muttered Skjor.

_Falkreath woodland,_ I responded. _Far to the east, near the Reach's borders._

Skjor flexed his bloody claws. _We could go and find this pack-brother. We can run miles across the wild landscape. The fire in our blood fuels us onward, always._

Silence descended over the windblown landscape, and the smell of fresh blood tempted me to lower my head and burrow my snout deep into the bloody carcass once more. Skjor followed suit, and together we fed, until little remained. Then I straightened upon the hill, letting my senses travel over the Hold, smelling the scents on the wind.

_Dawn is not far away, brother,_ I growl.

Skjor bares his fangs. _Then we will return, and hunt when the twin moons next rise._

Skjor and I had only just reentered Jorrvaskr when I saw that Vilkas was speaking with someone. A scholar, I recognized, by the magnificent robes that he wore and the various tomes bulging from a satchel resting at his side.

Vilkas looked around as Skjor and I entered.

"We've found another shard," he said, before we could ask. The light in his eyes was like flame.

Excitement scorched through me. "We have?"

"Meet Rigalmo, wandering scholar," invited Vilkas. "He knew that we were searching for one of the last pieces that made up Wuuthrad and he's found one."

"Where?" Skjor asked at once.

Rigalmo courteously dipped his head to Skjor and I before he responded. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Companion. Yes, it is true; I read in an old book about Nordic burial sites and one of the articles intrigued me; Dustman's Cairn, have you heard of it?"

"It's about half a day's walk across Whiterun Hold," I said. "Not as far as some other places."

I remembered Steepfall Deep in the mountains around Helgen.

"Well, I read that in the ancient chamber was a treasure that the Nords buried there protected with their rotted, skeletal undead lives," Rigalmo continued. "It was the fragment of a blade as old as the snows of Skyrim that the ancient Nords revered. At first, I pondered over this, wondering what weapon could be as old as Skyrim itself. And then I thought; of course! The ancestors of the Nords, Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions. And I knew at once that it would be a part of the shattered Wuuthrad."

Skjor and I exchanged a thrilled glance, and I looked towards where the parts of Wuuthrad, collected before I came to the Companions and several found during my time with them in the mead hall. There were two sockets empty. We were so close to completing the axe.

"Thank you, Rigalmo," I said formally to the scholar. "Feel free to rest awhile in Whiterun before you depart."

"One more thing: I've sent a few friends ahead to help you clear the way," said Rigalmo. "Should make getting to the fragment a little easier." He dipped his head once more to us, and then left Jorrvaskr.

The moment the doors clicked shut, Vilkas, Skjor and I turned to one another.

"This is incredible," Vilkas said at once. "We're so close now. Wuuthrad's glory will soon be returned to Jorrvaskr!"

"Dustman's Cairn...doesn't sound as if it is too far away," said Skjor. "We could even send someone off to get it today and they'd be back tomorrow with the fragment."

"From previous experiences with Nordic ruins, the Draugr keep their treasures in the very end chamber, where most of them are," I said. "Who are we going to send to get them?"

"We all could," Vilkas suggested. "I mean, besides Kodlak, but me and my brother and you two."

Skjor shook his head. "Yes, retrieving the fragment of Wuuthrad is important, but not _that_ important to send four dogs after the treasure. Do not forget that we hand out contracts to our whelps now. What would happen if a contract was delivered to Jorrvaskr and nobody but Kodlak was there to receive it?"

"Kodlak is the Harbinger," I reminded him.

"But he's growing old now," said Skjor. "He doesn't like dealing much with assignments. And the glory of Wuuthrad should be shared amongst all the Companions, not just the most important."

"Are you suggesting that we send the whelps to get it, then?" asked Vilkas.

"No, genius," snapped Skjor. "We send two of them—a whelp and a wolf—to fetch the fragment."

We remain silent for a moment, before I suggested, "Farkas. We don't know what's in the Cairn and he's the strongest werewolf in the Companions, as well as a powerful two-handed swordsman."

For a moment, Vilkas looked as if he was about to argue, but Skjor interrupted. "I think that's a good idea. Farkas is as solid as a rock. And he's had experience with retrieving a fragment as well. Vilkas, we'd ask you to go, but we need you to stay here and maintain order amongst the Companions. The moon is calling me and Aela a lot more often into the wilderness and the Underforge."

The urge for hunting in the First Seed was always very strong, often the strongest, with the fast-approaching summer coming and the new life spreading amongst the wilderness and plains of the Whiterun Hold. I glanced at Vilkas, wondering if the hunts were calling him, too. But he didn't look as though he had transformed and succumbed to the wolf in...well, in months.

"What whelp will go with Farkas, then?" asked Skjor.

"It'd have to be someone skilled enough to keep up with a blundering troll like Farkas," Vilkas said. "Only Farkas has a little more sense than a troll."

"Njada?" Skjor suggested. "She's faced a dragon with Farkas and Aela before. She pulled through."

"She has little experience with Draugr crypts," I argued. "And she's not exactly subtle. Too impatient."

"Athis, then."

"Sorry. I gave Athis a job to do in Eastmarch. Trouble stirring at Darkwater Crossing, something to do with bandits, and old Athis has quite taken after his uncle with dealing with troublesome mercenaries," Vilkas apologized.

"Never mind. He doesn't like going underground, anyway," Skjor replied.

Then I had an idea. "What about Alyssa?"

Skjor glanced at me and frowned deeply. "What makes you say that?"

"Her archery skills are...as good as mine," I said. "She's been throughout Skyrim, through Dwemer ruins and Nordic ruins alike. She fought a dragon, too. At the Western Watchtower."

"So she has plenty of experience," said Skjor. "Fine. But she's never here and always disappearing in the blink of an eye, often without telling anyone."

I had to second Skjor. It's been a week since she disappeared off again, in a similar manner as she had in Sun's Dawn, this time claiming another emergency in Riften. Meeko, this time, had gone with her.

"But her loyalty to Jorrvaskr is unshaken," I said. "She's very strong. She knows how to fight and how to survive. She's perfect to go with Farkas and enter the Cairn. Plus...she knows quite a bit about Nordic ruins. She won't let any trap harm either her or Farkas."

Skjor and Vilkas paused, considering this thought.

Then Skjor said, "Fine. I trust your judgement, Aela. We'll see that _when_ Alyssa returns, I'll assign her the task of finding the shard of Wuuthrad."

Vilkas and I nodded. As Vilkas walked away, heading down into the undercroft, Skjor and I are left alone beside the fire. And Skjor frowns.

"I don't know what we're going to do about Alyssa, truth be told," said Skjor, almost wearily. "She's been with the Companions for about three months now and though she's very skilled at what she does, she always keeps vanishing, riding to all points around Skyrim. She doesn't even tell us what the jobs are for."

I frowned thoughtfully. "She mentioned that she had jobs in Riften, Winterhold and Falkreath."

"And whatever they are, they are intruding too often with the Companions," said Skjor. "When she comes back I'll have to find out the jobs from her, and why they're so bloody important to her. I'd call Alyssa a bit of an irresponsible woman, but...I don't know."

"She doesn't seem quite as 'irresponsible' as one who is?" I suggested.

"Yes. She seems to be busy with good intentions, but I don't know what the hell they are," said Skjor, completely frustrated. "Well, she'd better prove herself when she and Farkas go off into the Cairn to find the fragment of Wuuthrad. She comes back without it, bad things will happen."

"Let's channel those 'bad things' into hunting, shall we?"

* * *

Alyssa returned a few hours later. She looked thoroughly worn out, and there was a fresh cut on her face, splitting through the corner of her mouth, still healing. Meeko prowled just beside her, looking more defensive than usual, though he barked happily in greeting when he saw me waiting for the pair of them.

"Welcome back," I told her.

"Thanks."

I got to the currently most urgent point.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Alyssa smiled grimly. "Ah...the cut, you mean? Surprise ambush in the wilderness."

Meeko barked in confirmation.

"What attacked you?" I asked.

Alyssa shrugged. "Not important. It's dead now, permanently. Anyway, you have that look about you as though you've been waiting for me for a long time. So what is it? Skjor having a fit on my sudden disappearance down south again?"

"Partially," I replied. "But he is looking for you, come to mention it. I'd go find him quickly if I were you."

Alyssa cocked an eyebrow. "So what's this newest matter about?"

"You can find that out," I responded. "Skjor's out in the training yard, last I remember."

"Thanks." Alyssa headed out towards the back. Meeko trotted loyally after her. For a moment, I stayed where I was, debating if I should go and tell Farkas that Alyssa had arrived. He was downstairs with Vilkas, last I remembered.

But I was more curious to find out more about Alyssa's jobs. Knowing Skjor, he'd probably get it out of here.

"Hey, Torvar!" I called. The whelp looked up from where he sat and read absently in a corner, and came over to me. "Go downstairs and tell Farkas that Alyssa's here, will you?"

"Sure." Torvar was puzzled at the request, but he didn't question it, heading at once down towards the undercroft. I headed outside.

I slipped outdoors in time to see Alyssa locate Skjor casually leaning against the wall behind the training yard. She told Meeko to wait, and then approached him. "You wanted to see me?" she asked.

"Yes," said Skjor, folding his arms over his chest. "We've decided that the time has come for you to bring a great amount of honour to the Companions."

"Really? What have I been doing for the past three months, then?"

Skjor frowned. "Taking contracts when given, as you are expected to. And then disappearing at barely a moment's notice, often gone from the halls for over a week. You haven't told us of your 'jobs' besides that of being a Companion. And before you head out with Farkas to Dustman's Cairn—"

"Dustman's Cairn? I'm going there?"

There is an unusual note of eagerness in Alyssa's voice that made Skjor stop with surprise.

"You've been expecting to go to the Cairn?" he asked.

"No, not that, it's just...there's something in the very last chamber that has been buggering me ever since I...well, there's something in the last chamber that's really caught my attention," Alyssa said.

Skjor narrowed his eye. "You already knew about Wuuthrad?"

"Wuuthrad?" There is honest surprise in Alyssa's voice. "There's a shard of Wuuthrad in the Cairn, too?"

"That's _all_ there is in the Cairn," snapped Skjor. "What else were you expecting in the Cairn, huh? Treasure? Gold? Jewels?"

"Of course—always is in Nordic ruins—but the thing I'm talking about is...a little larger and more important to me than that," said Alyssa. "You wouldn't understand."

"I think I'd understand very well," said Skjor.

Alyssa shook her head. "No, not this time. It's something that you can feel, not take. And something that gets absorbed into you. It'll take too long to explain here. Anyway, I'm to go to the Dustman's Cairn." She frowned. "That...thing, that's caught my attention, drew me in once before. The entrance chamber was completely blocked by fallen rubble."

Skjor frowned. "What are you saying?"

"That the entrance is blocked," said Alyssa. "I've tried clearing it. It's been difficult. Only a small army of miners armed with pickaxes could hope to get inside the Cairn."

Skjor frowned. "Well...that scholar didn't tell us about that."

"Scholar?"

"An Altmer scholar named Rigalmo came by a few hours ago and told us of Wuuthrad's location. He said that he had read up in an old text of a great treasure guarded at the very back of the crypt, a piece of a weapon as old as the snows of Skyrim."

Alyssa frowned. "Are you sure that he was talking about Wuuthrad?"

I was surprised by the hint of doubt in her voice, as though she presumed that the scholar meant something else. But what else could he have meant?

"Of course I'm bloody well talking about Wuuthrad," snapped Skjor. "What else could I be talking about?"

Alyssa's black eyes narrowed as though she wanted to argue, but she didn't say anymore about what other treasure there could be. "So am I to do this alone?"

"No. I said earlier; Farkas is to go with you."

Alyssa looked uncertain. "Is it...all right if I can do this on my own?"

"No," said Skjor. "You do _not_ question a member of the Circle, Companion. Do not forget your place as a whelp in the mead hall."

"Really? Eorlund believes otherwise," retorted Alyssa, folding her arms over her chest. "Now I know that you don't think much of me now, Skjor, but I promise you that soon you will begin to start respecting me."

"I do respect you." Now Skjor was sounding amused. "I just didn't like you."

"Whatever." Alyssa sounded tired. "Well, Dustman's Cairn is only an hour's ride away, but I'm guessing that with a footman running behind me, it'll take much longer. I'd best be off."

"Wait a moment—you're wounded. What the hell were you doing?"

"Ambush outdoors. Let's just say that I've pissed off the wrong animals...and people, for that matter, and they kind of want me dead."

"_Kind of_? What _have_ you been up to in your absence from the Companions?" asked Skjor wonderingly.

"That's for another time," Alyssa replied. "I'll be fine; I can heal myself on the way. Where's Farkas?"

"Waiting indoors, I believe. Now go, Shield-Sister, and bring back the fragment of Wuuthrad," said Skjor. "About the rubble in the Cairn...I remember something that the scholar said earlier, something about friends being sent on ahead to clear the way. Now that you talk about rubble in the doorway, I can only guess he meant that."

Alyssa nodded. "Fine. I'll leave now, then."

She turned and whistled curtly to Meeko, who at once ran over to her, bounding gaily across the cobblestone. He yapped happily at Alyssa, paused to sniff Skjor's leg for a moment, before falling contentedly into step beside, in front of and behind his mistress. They headed back into Jorrvaskr, passing me in the way in.

I clapped a hand to Alyssa's shoulder as she passed. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Alyssa flashed me a small smile, before slipping indoors. Meeko barked once at me and followed her in.

But I was still curious as to what Alyssa meant by her words. She spoke of another kind of treasure, one which she had tried to get to before but couldn't because of whatever had blocked the entrance to the Cairn. What had she meant?

* * *

The moons rose high behind us, and a wind ruffled our fur. Skjor and I prowled together across the prairie, our pawsteps making no sound across the thick, clumped grass. I paused and inhaled deeply, breathing in the luscious scents of life and wildflowers and grass upon the wind.

_A fine night for us to feed,_ I growled.

Skjor paused. _But there is something upon the wind,_ he barked. _I can smell the scents of others. Other werewolves. And more._ He paused again, lifting his scarred, grizzled head, and curled back his lips suddenly in a snarl. _Yes, there are many werewolves. Wild, feral, savage, no longer listening to reason. They are hunting in the Hold, too._

I heard the wolf growl with worry. _How many?_ I asked.

Skjor let his sharp-eyed gaze travel over the Hold, sniffing continually as he did so, before he muttered, _Four, maybe five, are approaching Dragonsreach. They are in our territory. They must be driven out._

I ruffled the fur along my shoulders, and loped forward a few steps. I sniffed the air and at once caught a distant smell, the smell of wolves and of blood, the scent of a werewolf. And many. I determined at once about five different scents. _You're right,_ I barked. _There are many coming._

Skjor let out a furious snarl. _Then we can show them how true werewolves fight!_

At once he threw back his head and let out a deafening howl. I quickly joined him, our voices united rolling across the landscape. The light of Secunda and Masser burned through my blood, chasing away pangs of whatever echoes of tiredness currently coursed through me.

And then we heard the answering call. Threatening, demanding, terrifying.

The united voices of five werewolves, roaring in response to our own voices.

"Skjor," I whimpered in my own voice, breaking through the heavy snarling that my wolf was currently emitting. "We can't hope to fight off five werewolves."

"We can with Hircine at our backs," Skjor responds, also in his true voice, and he bares his fangs in either a snarl or a grimace—hard to tell when the rest of your body is a massive monstrosity.

I would have told him that currently Hircine wasn't exactly the happiest with me, since I still hadn't found Panjor or located a Silver Hand camp yet, but I didn't get a chance. Because the next moment, Skjor and I, from our place at the top of the hill, saw the five werewolves approach, galloping with great speed over the grasslands.

They skidded to a halt near us and snarled in challenge.

I eyed them cautiously. Three of them were black as night, including the alpha of the pack, a huge, burly beast whose fur bristled like thorns upon his shoulders. One was a paler silver, and the other was an ashen brown.

The alpha of the group bore his fangs and snarled, _Away, infernal wolves. This night's hunt belongs to us._

Skjor let out a furious bark. _You are within our territory, prey-thieves. Leave and I will not tear the throat from your body._

The alpha let out a harsh roar. _Pitiful fool! I am a master of the hunt. I rule not just the Falkreath Hold, but all the Holds! Whiterun is a part of my great territory. My loyal pack and I rule this land._

I snarled, and took a step forward, feeling fury course through me. _Not while we are still breathing! I am a daughter of the moon, Hircine's chosen! You dare threaten to walk upon my territory?_

The alpha growled. _Funny. I know another who claims to be my Lord's very Champion._

Skjor lashed his tail, digging his claws into the earth. _Enough of this! We have many wolves behind us also. They choose to walk in other parts of our territory tonight._

The alpha wolf gnashed his fangs and snapped, _And who would these other wolves be?_

_Our Shield-Brothers,_ I growled. I let my voice emerge. "I am Aela, Huntress of the Whiterun Hold, and the daughter of the moon. Should you leave, I will not be forced to exact my abilities upon you."

For a moment, the alpha is surprised, and then he bared his fangs and snarled, _So, you are the Huntress? We have heard much of your doings in our plains as a woman. We did not realize that you were also a beast, and one of His Hounds._

_You keep sense, unlike your fellow wolves,_ I growled. _So you know your name?_

The werewolf took a threatening step forward. "Of course," he growled, and I heard the distinct accent of a Nord in his voice. "You do not wish to meddle with me, Companion. I am Arnbjorn of the forests of Falkreath. I stalk in the shadows and bring death to others, as does my family."

Beside me, I heard Skjor let out a sharp intake of breath.

"Arnbjorn?" he gasped. "Is that...is that you?"

Arnbjorn snapped his head around sharply and snarled. "Oh, so you recognize me at last, little cub? Well, I certainly remember you, Skjor. I didn't recognize you, or realize that you were now a wolf, too."

Skjor snarled. "You know why you left the Companions."

"I didn't leave. I was thrown out by Leiknir," snarled Arnbjorn, fury vibrating in every syllable of his voice. "My actions were too violent, he said. It's not the path of a Companion, he said." His gaze snapped around. "And I wondered when I would hear from the famous Aela. When I saw the Bloodmoon rise I was drawn out into the wilderness, as were all werewolves. I hadn't realized that it meant that Hircine demanded the death of my brother."

My eyes widened with amazement. "You're Orgmund's brother?"

"Didn't you see the fellow savageness?" bellowed Arnbjorn, flashing a furious bronze-eyed stare at Skjor. "Didn't you see my brutality flashing in Orgmund?"

"I saw it, and didn't believe it," snarled Skjor. "Why I didn't see it was because Orgmund, unlike you, tried to control his feral turns. He was loyal and noble. Orgmund was a warrior who lost his mind and who died a Companion. The same cannot and will not be said for you!"

Arnbjorn let out a rasping, grating chuckle. "Oh, of course. He died to Aela's claws, I remember. You killed my brother." His gaze snapped around, and I saw the fire burning in his eyes. "You killed Orgmund. You will die for your betrayal to me and my family."

I took a step back, flattening my ears to my head. "I came to the Companions after you were gone," I snarled. "Orgmund never once mentioned his brother to us. He must have been ashamed of what he was becoming, and who his brother had been. You are little more than a feral wolf now, aren't you?"

Arnbjorn laughed hoarsely. "You are very wrong, Huntress. I have a family. I have a wife. I am a master of my own pack. Once, I had a brother, but you stole that away from me."

"You displeased the Huntsman," growled Skjor. "Leiknir turned you from the Companions for good reason."

"Bah! The Lord of the Hunt to Oblivion!" snarled Arnbjorn. "I serve someone different now, someone who is much more meaningful to the afterworld. The shadows are where I will prowl when I die! The Hunting Grounds are dead to me!"

He lifted his head with a bellowing roar. _The same cannot be said for you, Companions! Tear out their throats!_

The four werewolves at once leapt from Arnbjorn's side, throwing themselves at me and Skjor.

I lunged at the nearest wolf, the grey one, and ripped my claws through its flesh. It let out a roar of agony, falling away from me, at the same time I felt an ache rush up my side. I spun around to find one of the other black werewolves, a bald pink scar across its face and one tattered ear, drawing its claws away from my side, where it had struck nothing but fur. I harked in anger, leaping upon it.

_Get out of our territory!_ I snarled, as I raked my claws through the scarred werewolf's fur. I let out a bark of satisfaction as I felt my claws finally strike flesh. With a yelp, the scarred wolf fell back, scrambling on all fours away from me, blood welling form the gashes on its skin.

The grey wolf lunged again. As I struck it, I heard it gasp in pain, and I heard a distinctively feminine note to its voice, and I knew at once that I was fighting a fellow she-wolf. She turned blazing eyes to me and bared her fangs, and for a moment, I found myself thinking of Taija. I had barely known the former member of the Circle, dying to the Silver Hand. But what would she have been like in combat?

The she-wolf leapt. I fell back and raked my claws through her fur, tearing away a clump. She snarled in pain, and threw herself more savagely at me. I whipped around, spinning on the spot, my many years of hunting as a wolf giving me great agility. I sunk my claws deeply into her exposed shoulder as she passed, and my claws came away wet with blood.

As she screamed, the scarred wolf leapt at me again, seizing my tail in its jaws and throwing me off balance. The world flew away beneath my feet and I landed on my side, and the grizzled wolf leapt on me at once. Its claws were poised, ready to crash down on my head.

With all my strength, encouraged by the adrenalin coursing through my body, I jerked away from him, and the blow slashed through my fur dangerously close to my throat. I felt pain like fire sear up my shoulder and neck and I howled as I felt blood well in the wounds. Savagely I threw my attacker off, rolling back onto my paws, the survival instinct burning in my blood as hot as fire. Pushing off from the ground, I leapt at the scarred wolf, driving my claws over and over again into its sides until the scarred wolf finally let out a submissive howl and dropped down onto all fours in front of me, bleeding heavily and struggling to rise.

I threw a glance at Skjor. He was fighting well; driven by rage, he was fighting like a master, currently unscathed, and delivering deadly blows to those who brought the onslaught to him. He lunged forward with agape jaws and closed them hard on a flailing leg, and I heard a sickening _crunch_ as the teeth bit down on bone. The werewolf howled with agony. Its dark brown companion leapt at Skjor, despite bleeding profusely from a wound near its neck, and ripped its claws through Skjor's fur. He ducked away just in time to avoid being torn open, released his grip on the werewolf's leg, and barrel-rolled into the dark brown wolf.

Then I heard Arnbjorn bellow with rage nearby. _Fight like the wolves you are, you kittens!_

He lifted his head and let out a howl, a howl that roared and echoed around the grasslands, a terrible sound that made fear cloud my senses. I fell back, though I was no idea why I was so afraid, my senses ringing from the deep, thunderous snarl. Then Arnbjorn lowered his eyes upon me, and he snarled at the she-wolf who was recovering rapidly nearby, _Let's finish this together, Maisha._

They lunged at me. I leapt at the nearest. What happened next was lost in a flurry of fur and claws. Red clouded my vision as I became feral, just for a brief moment, feeling no pain strike me and pain fall from my claws as the survival sense burned. I felt myself moving, though I could do nothing to stop it. And then my consciousness returned and I was thrown to the ground, every part of me aching, a gash opened up on my arm and bleeding blood freely onto the grass, and I let out a panic-filled whimper as I realized Arnbjorn was pinning me down, his claws digging into my skin, and his greater weight preventing me from pulling free.

Nearby, the she-werewolf prowled, barely scathed by my latest attacks.

Arnbjorn let out a satisfied snarl. "I wonder, before I kill you, how my old Companion group is doing," he growled. "It's been a quarter of a century since I was turned from the Companions. Many things have changed in that time. Tell me, are my old friends still there? Kodlak? Samiith? Taija? Lemaat, even, if that damned Redguard still remembers me?"

"Kodlak..." I manage to rasp. "He is the Harbinger now."

"So I heard," snarled Arnbjorn. "And what of the others?"

I struggled to speak. "Samiith, Taija, they're dead. They're in the Hunting Grounds. Lemaat may be. He and Myllasa left long ago."

Arnbjorn let out a soft chuckle. "Good. That means there's only Skjor to kill. And you, of course. You robbed me of a brother. And I will rob you of your own, as well as your life."

With a powerful swipe, he had knocked my head to the side, and forced it down with a paw, digging his claws into my cheek. I struggled, gasping for air, my senses swimming from the impact of the blow, to see Skjor let out a bellowing roar of pain as the dark brown wolf drove its claws into Skjor's back. The half-blind werewolf fell to his knees, gasping, totally winded, as the brown wolf prepared to sink his fangs into Skjor's throat.

"Skjor," I rasped. "Skjor, no!"

At the sound of my voice, Skjor snapped around.

"Aela!" he roared.

In one swift movement, faster than any of us could have believed possible, he had jumped to his paws and leapt, clearing the distance between him and Arnbjorn. His fangs closed around Arnbjorn's throat and the force of his jump pulled Arnbjorn off me. With a howl, the ex-Companion fell and was thrown across the clearing. The she-werewolf, Maisha, let out a shriek and leapt away from her alpha, cowering in fear of Skjor, who suddenly straightened on two paws, standing like a man, his snarls deep and threatening.

Arnbjorn gasped as he pushed himself shakily to his paws, blood welling from a deep gash on his face that would scar and never heal over fully, and a dribble of blood pulsing from his throat. The werewolf let out a furious bark. "You...Skjor..."

"That is my name," snarled Skjor's voice, sounding as deadly as his wolf's enraged voice. "I am not the man you remember me as, Arnbjorn. Like you, I have changed. I have become a wolf. I have become a warrior. And I have become a lover."

Arnbjorn pushed himself to his paws and growled mockingly, "You, in love? With Aela?" He threw me a contemptuous glance. I had already pushed myself back to my paws, and I bared my teeth at him in response.

"Yes," said Skjor. "You will not touch her again."

His long claws glinted in the moonlight.

"I have been a werewolf for many, many years," he snarled. "My abilities have become a part of me, werewolf. To face me is as deadly as facing another elder wolf. I can match your strength and your speed. And I can easily kill you now. But I will give you a chance. You take your pack and leave the Whiterun Hold and do not dare return to this territory, and I will spare your life."

_And should you betray this, and return, then I will not hesitate to spill your blood in the name of my Lord Hircine,_ growled the wolf.

Arnbjorn stood, panting, contemplating me and Skjor. We stood side by side, watching the defeated pack, who slunk around their leader. The black wolf which Skjor had injured walked with a painful limp to its step. Then Arnbjorn let out a rough hark.

_We will meet again, brother,_ he growled. _This, I promise you._

Then he let out a howl, high-pitched and feeble, symbolizing submission and retreat. Then Skjor and I watched as the pack of wounded and defeated werewolves left, running slower and steadier than they did before.

Then I rasped, "You never told me that Arnbjorn once was a Companion."

Skjor shook his head. "He wasn't worthy of remembrance. He was much worse than Orgmund ever was. He _enjoyed_ being savage. Orgmund regretted it. And I knew that he continued to regret the way he had succumbed when you released him."

He glanced at me, his wolfish eye suddenly filled with concern. "But are you all right? You're wounded."

"The same can be said for you." Gashes ran down Skjor's back, cruel and painful.

Skjor sighed, shaking his head. "We're both hurt. But we'll survive. What we're going to say to the Companions when we head back there..."

"You know...we don't have to head back there," I suggested. "Not yet, at any rate."

I sank down onto my chest upon the grass, settling into a position where I was comfortable, stretching my wounds out, wincing at every aching movement. "We still have to clean our gashes."

Skjor's footsteps sounded nearby, and then he settled down beside me. "I know," he murmured, letting out the faintest whimper as he sat down. For a moment, he rested his head on my shoulder, and I pressed my snout against his cheek. Then he moved his head away, and wordlessly he began to clean my wounds.

* * *

"Forget about my facial wound, Aela. What the hell happened to you?"

I smiled. "Long story short, Alyssa, I ran into...some wolves."

"In the wilderness? You really should rethink about going out into the wild at night," said Alyssa. "Well, I've just got back from Skjor, gave him the fragment...Azura's eyes, he looked as bad as you. What _happened_ in the one night I'm away from the Companions?"

I laughed. "Just a few wolves, that's all. But we threw them off. They won't be bothering Whiterun Hold anymore."

Alyssa smiled. "Good. Any victory, large or small, should be welcomed in Jorrvaskr."

Farkas passed us. As he did, he suddenly stopped. I saw that he had a fresh wound to his face, and a bruise welling on one arm that looked pretty painful. He stared at Alyssa, and she stared at him. I saw fear flicker in both their eyes, not aimed at their memories, but at...

I frowned in confusion. Why were they afraid of each other?

When Farkas opened his mouth, Alyssa shook her head, slightly. He seemed to understand this subtle gesture. He simply nodded, and walked on.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I said, "What the hell was that all about?"

"I know what you are," said Alyssa quietly.

I sighed. "Damn. I thought the secret could actually be kept."

"He didn't have any choice," murmured Alyssa, her voice hushed. "I was trapped behind bars. Damned cage door fell down behind me. Then they came."

"Who?"

"The Silver Hand."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach at the mention. "_Shit_," I breathed.

"That is the same word Farkas used the moment he saw them. He was badly outnumbered; ten to one," Alyssa muttered. "He didn't have a choice, but I was pretty shaken when I saw him suddenly morph into a bloody big werewolf. Well, despite that, we got the fragment, and some new lovely injuries to heal over time."

I remembered the fear in Farkas's eyes. The way that he had stared at Alyssa. How he had half opened his mouth, as though to speak. Of her silencing him. "Why was Farkas afraid of you, Alyssa?"

Alyssa shook her head slightly. "He showed me his secret. And I showed him my own."

"Which is what?"

"I'm sorry, Aela, I really am." Alyssa shifted her feet uncomfortably. "But I...don't want to talk about it. Perhaps not at this time, anyway. Maybe when I feel more...comfortable...around the Companions, then I'll explain. And hope that you believe me when I do."

* * *

**A/N: No wonder poor Farkas is afraid of Alyssa. He's right to be...**

**And whoever knew that Arnbjorn was once a member of the Companions? Not me until today! And making him Orgmund's brother was just a strange little idea that suddenly flitted into my head, for no apparent reason at all, and I thought, oh, sure, why not? And the werewolf pack fight was something I also just randomly thought up today. I knew I had to have some action while Alyssa was away in Dustman's Cairn killing Draugr and Silver Hand and finding out a little more about one another...  
**

**Please R&R as always, loyal readers. So far, the poll results are edging towards Dark Heroes. You want to hear a different tale? Leave your opinion (if you haven't already)! :)  
**


	52. Chapter 51 - Dustman's Cairn

**A/N: Here we are again, chapter fifty-one! This differed a little from the original layout but I thought it'd be nice to introduce a couple of...old friends. Forewarning: slightly vulgar language approaching.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

"_Only cruel hunters will kill without thought," he said to me. "And you were feeling remorse. An emotion that is commonly felt by apprentices when their trapped quarries see them and look up at them, and beg."_

_I nodded. My throat was closed up. The bear was dead. I should be proud. Instead I just felt guilt._

"_Aela, you ended his pain. The bear hunts now in a better place. The Hunting Grounds. Where all the animal spirits go in death."_

_He walked forward towards the dead bear. I followed him._

"_When you feel remorse, after you kill an animal, it eases the pain of guilt by blessing its spirit on its way." He knelt down beside the dead bear, and tugged the arrow from the skull, and handed it back to me. I crouched beside him and wiped the arrowhead senselessly on the grass._

"_A blessing?" I asked quietly._

"_Yes, Aela. You can send the bear's spirit on its way, if you want."_

"_But I don't know what to say."_

"_Then listen."_

_Panjor rested his hand lightly on the bear and murmured, "May the Father of Manbeasts welcome you to the Hunting Grounds, son of the wild. May you run alongside hunters and find good kills for all eternity, and never know pain again."_

_I glanced at Panjor. "The Father of Manbeasts?"_

"_The Daedric Lord, Hircine, is the Prince of the Hunt. His domain is a place in Oblivion called the Hunting Grounds. Where all those who serve Hircine in life can hunt alongside him in death, for eternity."_

_I frowned quizzically. "Do you serve Hircine?"_

"_Never officially. I don't have Hircine mutter in my ear and I'm not his servant. But he watches all hunters with some level of interest, and if we make a particularly fine kill, he appears in spectral form of the beast we just slew, and earn his favour."_

"_And you seek to earn his favour?"_

"_No. I'm happy being a solo hunter. And a teacher, of course."_

I opened my eyes. Oh, yes, Panjor, you had been a teacher to me. You were happy being a solo hunter, when you were in my presence. You were happy being a liar to me. And you were happy being a man who broke my heart when I discovered the truth, far too late. Fatally too late.

That scene, when I had first killed a helpless, trapped animal, had been scorched into my memories, even when it had happened when I was just seventeen. A girl, still young, surprisingly naïve to the world, and the dangers that it had, that it concealed in the shadows. A girl who placed her trust too easily in the hands of strangers, before she learned how easy it was for her friends to turn on her like starved wolves in the countryside, ready to kill to survive.

Ready to kill to ensure his survival.

I had been helpless. I had been trapped. I had pleaded to no avail with the man I once called friend, dear friend, a third brother. My hands had been wrenched behind my back. I had not fought as hard as I could have. Instead, I had only screamed the name of the man I once loved as a friend, as a brother. I had screamed his name. And he had heard it. And yet the arrows still flew. Buried themselves into my chest, into Samiith's chest. Snatching away both of our lives.

And by the good will of Hircine, the Daedric Lord I had only vaguely heard about first from Panjor in the wilderness, when I first learned the prey blessing, I had been sent back, as my task had not yet been completed. A task which I was determined to fulfill.

And I could be on the brink of finding Panjor. Because I know that he was out there. I know that he was watching the Companions with a close eye. The Silver Hand in the ruins of the Cairn had been one thing. And I was certain it would quickly lead to a series of events that would tumble one after the other over themselves. Somewhere in my heart, I knew, before a few more months would pass, my task to Hircine would be completed.

And I stood in the Cairn now, Skjor at my side, as we searched every chamber in the old Nordic ruin for some sign of the Silver Hand's whereabouts. The moment I had heard that Alyssa and Farkas had been ambushed in the ruins, I had found Skjor, and set off to the ruins at a dead run. Under cover of night we transformed to run faster. Hours later, we were deep in the ruins, and finding nothing but bodies as empty as the sky.

Skjor didn't have to be here with me. But I still remembered our promise. Our promise to hunt the Silver Hand together. And we still honoured that promise, even though the words first fell from our lips when Skjor was just leaving to complete his Trial, to enter the Circle.

He was beside me. He kicked over another dead corpse, straightening up as he did so, dropping a broken lockpick that he had absently pulled from the dead woman's pockets. "Nothing," he said with disdain.

I frowned. "But they bear scents. One of them I recognize...too well. Wherever he is, he's back in Skyrim. Whatever he's doing, he's starting to move. The war between the Silver Hand and the Circle is beginning to heat up, after lying dormant for many years."

Skjor nodded. "There'll be death."

"Hopefully Panjor's."

Only cruel hunters will kill without thought.

I wasn't to become a cruel hunter.

This was for the sake of old grudges. An ancient promise. An oath that I swore to Hircine when I lay, helpless, weak and dying in the Communal. Promising to repay Hircine's kindness to me, at sparing my life, at hunting down the man who was his biggest threat to His Hounds. Years on, and I was close to completing this task. I had given it much thought indeed.

We came into the main chamber. Where Farkas and Alyssa had fought of hordes of Draugr. At first, I thought they had been exaggerating when they described the battle. That some twenty to thirty Draugr had suddenly leapt from their tombs and attacked them, nearly overwhelmed them.

But I saw at once that they weren't exaggerating. And that their battle was true.

"Good Gods..." croaked Skjor in disbelief.

I felt sick at the very sight. The chamber was heaped with the thrown corpses of Draugr.

I walked forward slowly into the chamber, staring at the desolation with wide eyes.

"Some of these Draugr..." Skjor remarked stiffly. "They look as if they've...they've...been _burned_."

I stared. One half of the room was covered with scorch marks. The Draugr who lay amongst the cinders were badly scorched and charred black, their flesh burned away and blackened skeletons revealed beneath half-melted armour.

"You know," I said, "these corpses remind me a bit of the bodies I saw at Bonestrewn Crest."

"Oh, yeah?" Skjor kicked one of the burned Draugr with his foot and his face twisted in disgust as the leg fell away from the rest of the body with a soft _squelch_. "I'm sure any burned body would remind you strongly of what you saw at Bonestrewn Crest. Any idea who did this?"

"Alyssa," I replied immediately.

Skjor snorted. "And why do you think that?"

"Two reasons. One, you've never once seen Farkas do magic, have you? Two, Alyssa mentioned that she had a job up in Winterhold that she frequently had to attend to. Most likely she's aligned with the College there, though she's never exactly struck me as a wielder of magic," I listed off. "But she's been with the Companions for a season and we've still to learn what exactly she does for her jobs. She could be hiding a lot of secrets beneath her leathers."

"Secrets is an understatement," Skjor commented. "I'll have to find out exactly what she did to those Draugr when we get back. Speaking of which, any signs of Silver Hand here?"

I was about to say 'no', when my eyes drifted to the end of the chamber.

"You know, this reminds me a _lot_ of Bonestrewn Crest," I commented. "Look; you see that huge stone monument there?"

"Yeah."

"There was a larger imitation at Bonestrewn Crest. Those runes...they're magic, or something, or brimming with old magic. A dragon was slumped over it when Njada, Farkas and I first came to the Crest, dragon-hunting."

I headed towards it out of interest alone.

And that's when I saw it, pinned to the table, by none other than a dagger made of silver.

A note.

My heart dropped into my gut. I leapt towards it, and Skjor, seeing it, hurried over. I seized the dagger by its wooden handle and tugged it from the table, and I felt the heat of the lethal silver wash over my skin even after I had thrown it across the room, and it had thudded into the unmoving corpse of a dead Draugr, slashed open by Farkas's greatsword.

"What does it say?" hissed Skjor.

I folded back a corner of the note and read:

_I know you're alive. And I know you're hunting me. I'm unsurprised. But next time, I won't feel pity to you. Should we meet again, I won't hesitate to cleave the head from your shoulders and bring back your amulet to show the world what the Circle really is._

_I suppose you're wondering why I didn't decapitate you that day, when I thought you were dead. You were well-respected amongst Whiterun, and the people would be in an uproar should you have been killed then and there, and your head brought back on display by the Silver Hand, not exactly trusted throughout the empire. As well as that, you had once been my apprentice, Aela. You were a perfected piece of art that I had sculpted, created and nurtured. And I wasn't ready to end your life, destroy my work. Not yet._

_So for the past fourteen years in our estrangement between each other I have been building the Silver Hand's relationships in the cities. But I've been very quiet about it. Very subtle. Which is why even your keen eyes and ears haven't found me, Huntress. But I think it's best if we finally end this. When you're ready to meet me, head to the Rock where the noose hangs, and we can settle an ancient score between us._

_But let's make this interesting. Don't come alone. Or you'll be dead, long dead, before you can even reach me._

I knew this handwriting. Countless years ago, I had seen it only a few times. But I hadn't forgotten it. And now I knew who had written these words across the parchment. Who had just taunted me openly. And who I was going to destroy. Who I was going to kill.

I knew where Gallows Rock was.

Soon I would find Panjor.

And then I would put an end to this. Avenge Samiith and Taija. And Skjor would be at my side when I finally tore the mortal wound in Panjor's chest and watched as his lifeblood gloriously spread...

I snapped out of my Bloodlust-enhanced trance and mentally cuffed the wolf in my head. Now was not the time to daydream about vengeance, and sulkily the wolf retreated into a shadowy corner of my head.

"It's him, isn't it?" growled Skjor, his face growing taut. "Panjor."

_Panjor. Panjor. Panjor._ The echoes, unfading, unbroken, rang around the chamber, and in my mind. I lowered the letter, and clenched my fists, feeling fury well up in me. _You dare taunt me, Panjor? We'll see who has the last laugh in the end..._

"Gallows Rock," I said stiffly. "More than anything, I want to go alone."

Skjor placed a hand on my shoulder. "However," he said gently, "I'm going to go with you. Because I don't want to miss out on our promise."

"Just us two, going off to deliver vengeance to the fallen Companions...isn't this romantic?"

"It'll be that, soon." Skjor's eye brightened. "Your task to Hircine will have been completed then, if we manage to successfully locate and slay the man responsible for the deaths of our friends. And then we can be together, unburdened and released."

I smiled coyly. "I wonder who's going to give an amulet of Mara to the other first?" I teased.

I slipped the note into my pocket. "We'd best be heading back," I said. "We can at least tell Kodlak where we're going before we're gone."

"Unlike that Alyssa character," growled Skjor with dislike. "Who always disappears off at just a moment's notice and vanishes for several days on end."

"A pity that she doesn't disappear for longer."

I stopped at the sound of that voice, disbelief running hot as flame through my body. Skjor stopped abruptly beside me as well. We stared, in complete amazement and shock, as two people we thought we'd never see again suddenly appeared on the ledge overlooking the cavernous room. Outlined in the firelight of the spell flashing between her companion's fingertips, I found myself staring into the cold, sharp-eyed glare of—

"Dasha."

She smiled. "Aela. Skjor. I don't suppose you expected to see us again, did you?"

"To be honest, Dasha, I was hoping you had crawled into the shadows like the skeever you are and died of your wounds long ago," I commented. My eyes flashed to Dasha and Patros, who stood protectively just beside her, a cruel smile playing on his face, flames dancing in his hands. "Or that Alyssa and Farkas had done with you two during their excavation of the ruins."

"Pah. We arrived after they left," smirked Dasha. "Though I'd hate to think of how many spells Patros would have to do to them before their screams finally stopped."

"Really?" I folded my arms across my chest. "You weren't exactly the strongest I had to face, Dasha."

Dasha scowled. "Even so, I heard you scream like a lost child when Panjor drove those arrows into your heart." A wondering look came into her eyes. "I almost didn't believe it when I heard you were alive. I checked your pulse and it was still. You became cold as ice. You had definitely _died_, Huntress. Did a necromancer bring you back to life?"

I smiled. "Oh, I never died _permanently_, Dasha of Dragonstar. My wolf went to the Hunting Grounds, and then went back again."

Dasha frowned. "Spirits go somewhere and stay somewhere."

"Not if the way is barred."

For a moment, Dasha was silent. And then she understood.

"Oh, lovely, clever, charming and loyal Hound of Hircine," she sneered. "Earning a Prince's favour, enough to have him send you back to your body to live again. Of course, they don't do that just out of the kindness of their hearts. Princes have a reason on who they chose to leave alive, and who to infect..."

"What are you talking about now, Dasha?" snapped Skjor.

"You have no idea," Dasha spat. "I've told you this before. Princes don't care for mortals, only amusing themselves by toying in our affairs. They make us suffer, make us feel like worthless wretches, before they amuse themselves some more."

And then I suddenly understood.

"You're servants of a Daedric Prince."

"_Once_-servants," snarled Dasha, hatred shimmering in her voice.

"Which one?" asked Skjor, puzzled and intrigued.

Dasha's look could have melted ice and withered leaves. And then she spat one word. "_Peryite_. The bloody, accursed, _fucking_ Daedra! He ensnared me and Patros on one of our adventures through Morrowind. He infected us with a vile disease, made us live in the shadows like pathetic worms! We were stupidly innocent to the Daedric Princes then, and their true purposes with mortals; to move them across a gigantic unseen chessboard as a source of their own entertainment. For years we lay in the dark like wretches. And then one day Patros and I escaped, and we ran into the open, and with all of our savings, found the best healer in Tamriel to cure us of our ailments."

My eyes had widened. Dasha and Patros, once slaves of the Daedric Prince of tasks, pestilence and order? "I had no idea..." I breathed.

"You wouldn't, would you?" snarled Dasha. "You're so in love with your Lord, so over-the-moon about his control over you, that you won't open your eyes to look at the true faces of Daedric Princes. They're cruel, and they care nothing for mortals. But for a _few_ mortals, it seems, it differs."

"You...are lying," growled Skjor. "Hircine cares for those who serve him faithfully. The Wild Hunt comes only for those who truly deserve it. And the Hunting Grounds are a blessed plane made entirely for his followers and children to come to as a haven in the afterlife, instead of the thought of wandering a dark and dismal realm of Oblivion."

"Of course, groveling servants of Hircine would say that," jeered Dasha. "So would a Prince's supposed 'children'. But why did Hircine send you back at all, Aela? Surely not out of the kindness of his fathomless heart, or surely, _surely_ he would have helped Samiith, too."

Samiith's name fell from her lips. The murderous woman. The...the bitch. She had held Samiith defenseless to the Silver Hand. She had been cause to his death. How dare she speak his name? How _dare_ she?

And then I had seized the handle of my dagger, and my words had become little more than throaty snarls as I felt the change rapidly coming. "I was sent back to complete a task," I growled. "And to avenge the fallen!"

My dagger flew, and Dasha moved. Not fast enough; my dagger plunged into her side and she screamed and fell. Patros, eyes alight with fury, began to summon a fireball.

But Skjor had already been running. Now he leapt up at Patros, shortsword in hand, and the blade bit deep into his leg. Patros's mouth opened, and I'm sure he would have cried out in pain if he could, and stumbled backwards, putting his weight to one side to cope with his injury.

I drew my bow and bounded up to the upper platform where Dasha lay on the floor and Patros was hobbling over to her as fast as he could. A healing spell flickered in his fingertips and he threw it over Dasha's wound as he pulled out my dagger. Swiftly her flesh knitted and she pushed herself back to her feet, her eyes rekindled with rage.

"That was fast," Skjor commented, as he sheathed his shortsword and drew instead his greatsword.

Patros then healed himself, and then straightened, shock gleaming and sparking in his fingertips. Dasha calmly drew a shortsword made entirely of silver, and within me, the wolf cringed. "Today it ends," Dasha said icily.

"Yes." I pulled out an arrow, and readied it. "For you."

"Now!" roared Dasha.

Patros drew his hands back, ready to cast us both to Oblivion with his twin shock spells.

Skjor gripped the handle of his greatsword more determinedly, and with an enraged roar, he ran towards the two Imperials.

I drew back my arrow and aimed.

Dasha readied her shortsword, ready to plunge it into Skjor's chest.

_Beware the hand that bears it!_

Olava's prophecy rang out clearly in my mind.

_For it shall steal away your most beloved!_

Skjor raised his arms high to deliver a crippling blow to Dasha. She smiled, ducked low, and thrusted.

A scream tore from my throat. I shouted Skjor's name. And loosed my arrow.

It shot through the air, faster than anything I had ever seen before. I stood still, praying it would reach her in time. And then I watched as the arrowhead of Skyforge steel thudded deep into Dasha's side.

And her sword arm faltered, and swung low, and thudded on the ground instead of through Skjor's gut.

At the same time Skjor brought his greatsword down.

And it bit deeply into Dasha's shoulder.

She screamed with agony, pushed to the ground by the force of the blow.

And then I whirled around as I remembered Patros. But too late; his shock spells were already flying, reaching out, lightning-like strands reaching for my chest, my heart.

And then it collided with me.

Pain lanced through my body. Fire was licking every inch of my skin. Though it lasted for just a moment, it lasted for eternity. And I was thrown backwards, everything paralyzed within me. The fires continued to burn me even when I felt myself collide with the far wall. Darkness clouded on the edges of my vision. I fell face forwards down on the ground, and winced as I tasted blood in my mouth. My lip was split and bleeding.

And gradually the fires died away, though I still ached, everywhere, on my body. I could barely move. Nearby, Skjor was trying desperately to stand, groaning his pain. Through my slurred vision, I saw Patros give a satisfied smile, and walk calmly over to Dasha's side, a healing spell ready in hand.

I blinked a few times, trying to recover from the aftershock. Gradually I felt control of my movements return. As I slowly pushed myself to my feet, I heard a gasp of pain issue from nearby.

_How many times has Patros trained in restoration arts?_ I thought in amazement to myself as I finally stood up and located where my bow had fallen. I leapt towards it, and picked it up, at the same time I saw Patros whirl around, alarm in his eyes.

He hadn't expected me to recover so soon. I pulled out an arrow without hesitation and aimed it at his throat. Patros desperately tried to work up some kind of paralysis spell but he was still healing Dasha's injuries.

He was healing her.

Looking after the helpless.

And something made me lower my bow slightly.

Despite my bitter resentment and hatred to Patros and Dasha that I had felt for many years, ever since they had betrayed us, I felt that I should not kill them. They did not..._deserve_ it.

_Why don't they?_ snarled the wolf.

Well, I reasoned with my inner senses, Dasha and Patros were victims of their own Daedric Prince. They never asked to be part of Peryite's infected. They had nearly died in service to a Prince they had spurned. They had barely escaped. What better way to channel their fury at the Princes than to become part of a band that hunted them?

But why the Silver Hand...

But then it made perfect sense. They wanted to be with an organization that was always on the move, when they would always have to fight and face danger, the way of an adventurer. With the Silver Hand, that granted them some level of protection, and they hid from their Lord. And if they had become vigilantes, they would have pursued all the Daedra. Been at risk by all fifteen of them. As well as that...well, we had heard the Hall had been destroyed, several months ago, by vampires. They hadn't expected such powerful undead to come after them. And vampires, as it was commonly known, were the spawn of Molag Bal.

But it made me realize that Dasha and Patros hadn't exactly _asked_ to become werewolf hunters. They had joined them through their own mortal fear of a Prince.

I lowered my bow completely. I was not to end their fear. Not yet.

"I will spare your life," I told Patros calmly, quietly, coolly. "If you promise that you will never return to the Silver Hand."

Patros's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly, though there was fear flickering in his gaze.

"No. Go to a temple and pray for forgiveness for your sins," I said. "Find a way to fight honourably for Skyrim. And leave the wolves in peace. We have chosen our paths and we wish to follow them to the ends of our lives. Be your own masters."

Patros hesitated.

"I will let you live," I growled, "so long as you promise never to consort with the Silver Hand again, or to cross the paths of the Companions. Should you fail to keep that promise, then I can promise you that I _will_ hunt you down, and I _will_ kill the both of you."

Patros slowly nodded, and then seemed to ask a question. But though I could not understand his words, I could understand what he was asking, by the way he looked at me.

"Only a cruel hunter kills without thought," I told him. "So I saw you, trapped, helpless. And I thought. And I felt compassion. And I understood that it was not your place to die by my hands. I do not wish to hold the fates of lives in my hands any more than I desire to. And so you may leave. I will give you a second chance."

Patros stiffened, and then he leaned over and gently gathered the unconscious Dasha up in his arms. He straightened, and seemed to awkwardly nod towards me. Then he turned and leapt through a split tombstone that led to a hidden passage, and most likely wound its way out of the Cairn. Then they were gone. And in my heart, I was certain that they weren't going to be seen again by my ilk and by the Companions for a very long time.

I glanced towards Skjor. He was already pushing himself onto his feet, using his greatsword for support. He stared at me in disbelief and said, "Why'd you let them go?"

I shrugged as I sheathed my bow over my shoulders. "Because they suffered. And it wasn't my place to end their lives."

"It _was_ your place," said Skjor incredulously.

"No." I glanced firmly towards my lover. "I am a huntress, and I am still honourable. Only a cruel hunter kills without thought, and I am not a cruel hunter. When I looked at Patros and Dasha, I just...thought about their fates. And I decided to let them go. Let them try to redeem themselves. I mean, Skjor, look at it this way; they only thought they were doing the right thing."

Skjor hesitated, and then slowly he nodded.

"You're growing wiser, Huntress," he said.

I smiled, and walked close to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Anything badly damaged under that armour?"

"No, not really. Your face is bloody, though."

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. "Just a bit of a cut lip, that's all. Nothing that a small dabble of healing draught can't handle," I shrugged.

_Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved._

And now I understood. I gazed at Skjor, my Shield-Brother, my lover...my beloved. I looked into his bright eye, at the relief and love that I saw shining within like two dropped septims, and I knew that the Silver Hand hadn't taken him away from me. They had been close. And my arrow had stopped this part of the prophecy from coming true.

_Or has its time come yet?_ I thought.

No. It would never come. I knew where Panjor was. I could find him. And me and Skjor, we'd hunt together. Always.

"Come on," I said. "We can head back and at least inform Kodlak where we're going."

"Do you think he'll let you? Last time that you went off to a fort on request, it was with...with Samiith, and the two traitors."

I frowned, remembering the memory quite clearly. And then I simply said quietly, "He'll have to let me go, Skjor. This is the command of Hircine."

I don't care what Dasha said about the Daedric Princes. I could have even shared in her belief...most of it. But the Huntsman has been my Father for many, many years. And I have been his daughter of the moon. I will continue to be his daughter for the rest of my life and for eternity beyond. Nothing would shatter that faith and nothing would break it from my body or spirit. Skjor thought the same. Even when death broke us apart in the mortal world, we would be reunited in the Hunting Grounds forever, bound by our love of hunting and the wolves that roared continually within us.

Vilkas and Farkas and Kodlak may view the blood as a curse. But for me and Skjor, it was a blessing. It was the key to being together for eternity.

* * *

**A/N: So that was that. Aela now knows where Panjor is, and she and Skjor are ready to go charging off into the ruins of Gallows Rock to find him. However, something makes them stop...long enough...to accept a new member of the Circle.**

**And that's for next time, coming soon. Meanwhile on the poll, looks like Dark Heroes is going to be the next written fanfiction. Thanks for everyone who has voted! And another big thanks to all you guys :D I've now had over 1000 views of the Prologue! And at the time I've uploaded this chapter, 92 reviews strong. Let's see if we can make it to 100!  
**


	53. Chapter 52 - Initiation

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Come on, folks! 4 more reviews before I hit 100! Here, maybe this long chapter will help...**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two

As I entered the undercroft of Jorrvaskr, already geared, Farkas quickly approached me from where he stood at the base of the stairs, and grunted, "She's gone."

"Who?" And then it hit me. "Oh, not Alyssa again, right?"

"Yeah," confirmed Farkas. "But this time, it wasn't just for her own reasons. She went to go and..." he frowned, carefully bringing back the memory. "She went to go and beat up that troublemaker in Dawnstar. That ex-legion officer, whatever his name was, his name escapes me. That one who's been bugging that person who contacted Jorrvaskr."

"Ah...right. Well, it's good hearing that Alyssa's out on a job again."

"Yeah," Farkas said, with a slight smile. "I don't think that man will be giving any more trouble when he sees Alyssa."

I stopped, and glanced at Farkas, frowning slightly. I saw that fear in his eyes again. The same fear that I had seen when he glanced at Alyssa, after they had returned from Dustman's Cairn. Quietly I asked him, "What...exactly happened in the Cairn, Farkas?"

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. She asked me not to tell."

I sighed inwardly. Outwardly I said, "Why? What does she want to keep secret?"

Farkas opened his mouth to respond, and then scowled at me and said, almost snapping, "Her reasons of keeping her secret hidden is her own! I won't betray her trust, I won't!"

"All right, all right, back off. I understand."

Farkas seemed apologetic at his sudden frustration. He dipped his head to me. "Right. Ah. Sorry, Aela."

"Forget it. I shouldn't have pried. Anyway, is Kodlak in his quarters again?"

"Uh-huh. But he wants to see you."

I stared at him, puzzled. "But I've only just returned..."

"I know." Farkas indicated obviously towards the closed door to Kodlak's room, at the far end of the hall. "But he wants to see you. And I think he wanted to see you today, too. He seemed pretty urgent when he was telling me to find you."

He frowned. "Where _were_ you? Hunting?"

"No, I was at the Cairn," I admitted. "I found out where the Silver Hand are now. Gallows Rock. I'm going to ask Kodlak if Skjor and I can head out there immediately, and put an end to this."

I fingered my amulet as I spoke. "The moon calls. I have to answer it."

Farkas looked hesitant, the faintest traces of his recent transformation showing on his face. As though he wasn't sure what to think. Instead, he simply settled for nodding his head curtly to me and saying, "I...I won't keep you any longer, Huntress. Kodlak is waiting, after all."

Puzzled, I turned away from Farkas and headed towards the undercroft. What did Kodlak want with me? He couldn't already know of my discovery...could he? My footsteps quickened as I approached the door, until I was just outside, and I knocked sharply on the wood.

"Come in," said Kodlak.

I opened the door, to find Kodlak in his usual spot in the corner, surrounded by his books and dusty tomes. He looked up as the door clicked shut behind me, and I saw his ancient, weathered face break into a friendly smile.

"Welcome, Aela," he said. "Please, take a seat." He closed the most recent book he had opened on his lap with a small _clap_.

I approached him and obediently took my seat opposite the table from him, and said, "You wanted to see me, I guess."

"You guessed correctly," Kodlak said, placing the book on the table. "I need to speak to you about Alyssa."

"What about her?" I asked.

"She..." Kodlak hesitated. Unsure where to begin.

Then, at last, he said, "Is the door closed? Firmly?"

I nodded. "Firmly as possible, Kodlak. Now what's this about Alyssa? We all know that she isn't the most...reliable person on hand. But she's still loyal to Jorrvaskr."

"Oh, definitely," agreed Kodlak. "I'm not doubting her loyalty to Jorrvaskr. It's obvious in every movement I see her make at the table that she loves being with us. In those moments when I see her, I know that we are to receive many great things from her."

He leaned forward, his eyes shadowed. "You know that I can look into the eyes of others and sense their worth, don't you?"

"Of course. Everyone in Jorrvaskr knows that. That's how you've known who will truly belong in Jorrvaskr or not."

Kodlak smiled. "I'm glad that you still have so much faith in an old man like me."

"Oh, come on, you're not...that old," I conceded.

Kodlak softly laughed. "I'm old enough, girl," he said. "Much older than you, even Skjor. But where was I? Ah, yes. Alyssa." His smile faded from his face, to be replaced with a very sombre look indeed. "She...intrigued me, the moment that she walked into our halls, seeking to join the Companions."

"In what way? Her appearance?" I couldn't help asking.

"Not just her...appearance." Kodlak frowned. "I looked into those dark eyes and I saw...pain."

"Pain?" I echoed, puzzled.

"Yes, Aela. Pain. I saw pain, and I saw fire. Fire as bright as the sun," Kodlak continued. "Whether that fire was her heart's inner flame or something else entirely, I can't be certain. But pain and fire are commonly found together. But the pain, it seemed, was stronger than the flames."

I tipped my head to one side, now intrigued myself. "What's hurting her?"

"I'm not sure," said Kodlak, half-throwing up his hands. "It doesn't seem to be harming her physical capabilities, from what I've heard from Farkas, what she accomplished in the Cairn."

I frowned. "So Farkas told you, and not me? Or Skjor? Has he even told Vilkas?"

"I believe it was Alyssa's very wishes that I was informed about her...stature," said Kodlak. "And knowing of her past, I can certainly understand why she wishes it to be kept hidden...for now, at least, until I believe that she is ready to tell the others."

"Tell us what?" I demanded. "Alyssa's my friend. I should know!"

"And so you must continue to let her trust in you grow," Kodlak continued. "Because...well, should you tell her this, I can almost sense the uncertainty that will come from her."

I stiffened, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"The Dream," said Kodlak emphatically. "The one that I had two years ago, the one about our choices in life, in Sovngarde. There is a third part which for a long time, I left out."

My scowl deepened. "You should have told us. We're your _Circle_. Farkas and Vilkas and Skjor and I would never betray your secrets, if you had wished for the secret to be kept."

Kodlak shook his head distressedly. "You weren't ready to know. But you, Aela...you are now, because you are her friend. And when the time is right, I know that she will understand easiest when the words come from you."

My eyes widened. "The Dream was about _her_?"

Kodlak nodded his confirmation. "The part when my wolf spirit prepared to drag me down to the Hunting Grounds...something happened."

His eyes grew bright. "Something incredible happened. The wolf spirit lunged, but an arrow flew out of nowhere, and it was the colour of night. I turned, to see who had fired it, fending the wolf off me momentarily, and saw that it was a woman. A strange woman, with hair, eyes and lips as dark as coal, and scars that ripped across her face."

"Alyssa," I breathed.

"Now I know her name," Kodlak said. "At the time, she was a stranger to me. She met my eyes. Silver met black. The wolf straightened, and let out a defiant roar. She slung the bow over her back, and, her eyes never parting my own, we drew our blades together. And together, as one, we faced the wolf."

I couldn't stop staring after what he had told me.

"If what I'm hearing is true," I said slowly, "Then Alyssa just spat in the eyes of a Daedric Prince. And survived."

"Oh, trust me, girl, she's spat in the eyes of a lot worse than a Prince..." Kodlak suddenly fell silent. I wanted to ask what he meant, but I knew that it would be useless. "For a long time, I kept the part about the stranger silent," he murmured. "Because Skjor would've doubted me. I still need his council in these...trying times. He still has much to learn upon succeeding me one day. Now I have revealed this part of the Dream to you...to me, the most important part. Because...because it means that something is going to happen to Jorrvaskr. Very, very soon."

"Do you know what?" I asked quietly.

"Not a thing," sighed Kodlak. "Perhaps I will receive another dream soon. But you can imagine my shock when I saw that very woman, the one who protected me from the beast, enter the hall through the shadows, asking to join. I could not have been mistaken when I saw her...distinct appearance. But I did not expect to feel such...pain in her soul."

"I guess you know why."

"I don't."

I frowned slightly at this. "What do you mean?"

Kodlak didn't elaborate.

"But what I'm saying to you, Aela, why you are here at this very moment, listening to my words, is that Alyssa is too important to lose," he said. "She cannot be distracted from her destiny. But she must be guided. I fear...because she knows of us, of our...affliction...she must, too, join us."

I raised my eyebrow slightly. "So you want her to become a member of the Circle?"

"I think," sighed Kodlak, "that it is for the best."

I stared at him for a moment, before I realized what he was saying. The despair, the note of unhappiness in his voice. And I realized why he was so upset.

"You don't want her to become a lycanthrope," I said quietly.

Kodlak looked up sharply.

"I believe that it would be very unwise—" he began, but I had risen to my feet.

"If Alyssa becomes a member of the Circle," I growled, "then she becomes a werewolf. It has been that way for generations, ever since Terrfyg first bestowed the gift upon us. I don't care that you're trying to find a cure, or that you've been defying Hircine, and overpowering your Bloodlust. But that is your choice, and not Alyssa's. She must become one of us to truly be a member of the Circle!"

"And does she get a choice, too?" snapped Kodlak, his anger breaking through. "If her soul is already torn and twisted and pained as it is, does she want to be controlling a Gods-damned _beast_ as well?"

We stood there, glaring at each other, our anger coming through by our heavy breathing alone. And gradually, our rage died down, and I was the first to break the silence.

"I've found him."

Kodlak stared at me, his eyes wide. "Panjor?" he checked.

I nodded. "He's at Gallows Rock."

His eyes narrowed in a frown. "Then I guess you want to hunt him."

"Yes." My hands curled into fists. "You know that's what Hircine sent me back into the world to do. I have to do it. He killed me. He killed Samiith. He killed Taija. He deserves to die."

Kodlak looked grim. "So it was he who killed her, then," he growled.

"I am certain."

He sighed, nodding. "I cannot argue with this. But may I ask you to do one thing for me, Aela?"

"What?"

"Wait."

I stared at him incredulously. "_Wait?_" I repeated indignantly. "Why wait? I've been tracking that...that bastard for years. Now that I know where he is, I want to...I want...I want to kill him. Now. And end this." Rage was burning in my eyes, in my blood.

And Kodlak contemplated me silently. After a moment, he said, "Do you think, Aela, that it is wise to walk so willingly into the old fort?"

I hesitated. "Skjor is to accompany me."

Kodlak's brow creased slightly. "You are not taking Farkas or Vilkas?"

"We made a promise a very long time ago, Kodlak, before Skjor was even a member of the Circle. We would avenge their deaths together, as one, united. And I believe that it should just be us to attack the fort, and to kill Panjor."

Kodlak sighed. "Well, I suppose I cannot reason with that."

"So why are you making me wait?"

Kodlak looked up, and his eyes glowed. "Because I believe that you should take Alyssa with you."

"Alyssa?" I repeated, puzzled. "Why take a whelp with us?"

"Not a whelp. When she returns, I wish to make her a member of the Circle," said Kodlak. "Immediately."

I frowned. "Why so soon?"

"My reasons are my own. But I do not believe that it is right for a woman like Alyssa to remain as a whelp when she has faced...dangers beyond my comprehension," Kodlak said, with a scowl. "More than you'd understand, and it pains my heart not being able to tell you. I know that I must have risen much curiosity within you. But I must respect Alyssa's decision to keep it a secret."

I was on the verge of demanding the truth from Kodlak, but I remembered the uncomfortable look in Alyssa's dark eyes. The friendship that we had. And I knew that I had to respect her choice as well. "Fine," I admitted. "Skjor and I will wait until she becomes a member of the Circle, before we head out."

"And...take her with you."

I glanced at Kodlak. "Why?"

A small smile was on Kodlak's face. "She will be a very strong woman to have on your side. Trust me when I say those words, Aela."

I frowned slightly. "I'll...discuss it with Skjor."

"Thank you." Kodlak leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. "In the meantime, I'd ask you to please keep an eye on Alyssa."

"Why?"

"My concerns are for her at this current time. Do not ask me why, Aela. As well as this, she is your friend. There is something strange happening to her at this current time, something unnatural, and I'd like you to try and find out for me."

I hesitated, and then I nodded. "Fine. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you." Kodlak made it clear that I was dismissed.

* * *

"So, Kodlak wants to make her a member of the Circle, does he?" Skjor remarked, looking vaguely interested.

"Trust me, I couldn't get much else out of him," I said, privately tucking away the knowledge of Alyssa's part in Kodlak's Dream. When the time was right, I'd tell him, and see what he made of it, but in the meantime, Alyssa was probably returning from Dawnstar and she'd have to be told the news. "He also wants her to come with us to Gallows Rock."

Skjor frowned. "Bah. She'd never keep up with us."

I let my idea flicker through, an idea that had formed in my mind when I had left Kodlak's quarters. "Unless she _is_ one of us."

Skjor paused, and then stared at me. "Are you suggesting...?"

"Yes. She should become one of us. A werewolf."

We were out in the deserted training yard. Beyond, I saw a hawk circle above the blown grasslands of the Whiterun Hold. And Skjor was beside me, staring at me somewhat incredulously. And then he frowned, and growled, "And who is going to be her blood donor? Not me, that's for sure."

"You've still got a grudge at Alyssa's lack of respect for you, I presume?"

"Oh, definitely." Skjor bared his teeth in a grimace of frustration. "Disappearing off into goodness-knows-where with barely a warning of departure, her lack of reliabitliy in Jorrvaksr, and the way that the others just seem to...to _respect_ her." He shrugged disdainfully. "So she told a few tales of her past. She's killed a few animals and fought a dragon at the Western Watchtower. That doesn't make her the queen of Skyrim. No, as far as I'm concerned, though Alyssa knows of our affliction, I'm not going to be the one giving her a sample of _my_ blood."

"You gave it to me, and I was much more annoying to you," I grinned.

"You were different," remarked Skjor. "Anyway, who else is going to give her the beastblood? Farkas and Vilkas would highly disapprove. They've been trying to give up their urges, and most likely agree with Kodlak that their blessing is a so-called curse." He spat the word with contempt. "Ha! Something as strong as this isn't a curse. It's only the way that they see it. They're as delusioned as the two Imperials in the Cairn at times, though I suppose that they only mean good intentions with their decisions."

I paused, trying to measure up how painful it had been for Skjor. And how much pain was in store for me.

But I said it nonetheless.

"Easy, Skjor. I'll do it."

Skjor stared at me. "You'd...seriously give up your blood for her?"

"Of course," I remarked, crossing my arms over my chest. "She's a warrior, no doubt about it. She deserves the glory of Hircine to assist her in the future. I'd be proud even to give up my own beastblood to strengthen her."

Skjor frowned. "You've never donated your blood before," he said carefully. "It's...painful."

He took off the bracer from his left arm and showed me the scars, the whitish gashes that had never quite healed on his flesh, where the dagger had slashed into the skin, and releasing the flow of beastblood. "Quite painful. They cut to sever the artery so a lot of blood can enter the altar. You have to know when to take your arm away and staunch the bleeding." He frowned. "Are you sure that you're ready for this?"

I nodded. "I'm ready."

"And for Alyssa?"

"Look, I know that you don't like her, but you can at least try to give her a little more respect," I said to her. "Maybe it'll grow on her. I mean, Kodlak trusts her, and Farkas fears her, for some reason. That ought to be enough to give even a hint of respect towards her. In the three months alone that she's been with us she's already a member of the Circle. That's pretty impressive, even by my standards."

Skjor hesitated, thinking on this, and then eventually he nodded.

"Fine. I'll _try_," he conceded. "But maybe not too hard."

* * *

"Really?"

Alyssa's eyes were wide with surprise. At her side, Meeko tipped his head to one side, and let out a puzzled growl. The woman rested a hand on the hilt of her dagger and said, "So soon? I hadn't realized..."

"Kodlak has decided that you're honourable enough to become a member of the Circle," I told her. "I would've thought you'd have been happy."

Alyssa lifted the corner of one eyebrow. "I _am_ happy, Aela. I'm pretty sure that you already know that. I'm just surprised. And thoughtful. I've heard funny ideas about 'honour' in my travels."

She softly laughed. "Take Ulfric Stormcloak, for example."

For a moment, I was about to ask how she knew the Jarl of Eastmarch, but then I recollected that she had been in Helgen, and had seen him up close. "What about him?" I asked.

Alyssa frowned slightly. "I grew up in Cyrodiil," she said. "So I grew up hearing about how the Jarl of Eastmarch nursed a deadly bitterness towards the Legion. Well, to be honest, I can't say I blame him; left for a prisoner of war, and then imprisoned when he tried to free the people of the Reach. When I went to Skyrim, I heard that the High King had been killed by the man. I thought that he had been dishonourable, killing the King with the power of the Voice instead of engaging him in fair combat. I headed to Skyrim before I found out the news about the High King, after my farm was ransacked by the Dominion."

Her face grew shadowed with anger. "Dishonourable Elves. I headed to Skyrim. I wanted refuge amongst my people, even though I had never been born there. I thought the High King was still alive then, would listen to me. Almost immediately, as I was passing through the Jerall Mountains, and entered the Rift, I was ambushed and knocked unconscious by the Legion."

I was surprised. "Did you try reasoning with them?"

"I didn't get much of a chance," Alyssa replied drily. "I came to with a gash to my head on a cart, my wrists bound and all my possessions taken from me. Apparently, the Legion thought I was with the Stormcloaks. Whether it was because I was a Nord, or because I was wearing my mother's pendant at the time, I'm not certain."

"Pendant?"

"Yeah." Alyssa pulled something out from beneath her armour, slinging it over the front, and I saw that it was an unusual amulet, something that I had never seen before. It was a small golden dragon, its jaws parted and wings spread in flight, and two chips of bright sapphire for its eyes.

"This is my family heirloom," Alyssa said. "It's been passed down through my family for generations, and then it came down to me. I think it was made at the very beginning of the Fourth Era by my ancestor after the Oblivion Crisis. It's been ours for generations, passed down mother to daughter, father to son. I'm fortunate that they let me keep it. I don't think that even Nords would risk taking another Nord's only item of home. Where was I? Ah, yes. I shared the cart with an odd band of people. A Stormcloak soldier named Ralof, Ulfric Stormcloak, and some horse thief called Lokir."

_Lokir._

My eyes widened in amazement and horror, and I took a step backward from Alyssa as though I had been struck over the head, and I half-raised my hand to my mouth. Alyssa stared at me, and asked with some concern, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I murmured faintly, the shock of hearing my brother's name spoken aloud for the first time in years and years now wearing off.

"You seemed shocked," Alyssa noted. "At hearing one of the names."

"Lokir," I said quietly.

Alyssa frowned. "Tried to steal a horse and ride to Hammerfell. Got caught. And then he was in the cart, arguing with Ralof. I didn't think much of him. Why?"

"He was my brother."

Alyssa's eyes widened with a shock of her own, and she murmured, "Oh, I'm so sorry..."

"What happened to him?" I asked softly.

Alyssa looked uncomfortable. "He was...a little bit of a coward." She paused. "Okay, a big coward. He wasn't ready to face his death and kept rambling that he was innocent. Well, a thief wasn't exactly innocent when he was caught red-handed. Ralof told Lokir to face his death with courage. But...it kind of snapped when the Legionnaire asked Lokir of Rorikstead to step forward. The moment he did so, he stated that he wasn't a rebel, that they couldn't do this, and then shot straight up off the road."

I groaned, knowing that that was exactly what Lokir would do. "Ah, yes. I presume that a man named Ulfgar wasn't with them?"

"Ulfgar? No, I haven't heard of an Ulfgar," said Alyssa. "I...I guess you'd expect to hear that Lokir died. He did; he never got further than halfway up the street before he fell, three arrows in his back."

So my brother was dead. I waited for the grief to come.

And strangely enough, it didn't.

My mother was dead. My father was dead. And Lokir was now dead. And who was going to miss him?

If he was alone, that could have only meant he had parted from his brother a long time ago. Deserted him, too, as he had deserted Rorikstead.

Or had he deserted them, or simply left, knowing that he wasn't wanted?

_They brought it on themselves,_ I told myself firmly. _Causing so much havoc in that little town when chaos couldn't really be dealt with..._I realized that Alyssa was watching me with some concern, perhaps waiting for me to break down, to sit down, wrapped in grief.

Instead, I said, "He and I never saw eye to eye. And if he was alone, he'd break. He's never been a fighter. A thief since before and after Father died."

Alyssa looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then said, "So he wasn't a man with honour."

"No," I admitted. "He wasn't. If he was trying to steal horses, then he certainly had none."

Alyssa nodded slightly. "I guess so. And I thought that the Stormcloaks would be just as cowardly and as, ah, delusioned as Lokir was. Men with little honour, following the raised banner of a murderer. But instead, my opinion of the Stormcloaks was drastically changed when they helped me escape. Ulfric Stormcloak was the man who cut my bonds."

My eyebrows raised. "So your opinion changed of Ulfric that day."

Alyssa nodded. "Ralof and I managed to escape Helgen. I didn't see Ulfric again until well over a year later. And I learned that though what he had done was wrong, he still had honour. All he cares about is serving Skyrim, his homeland, in any way that he can. The way that he is going about it, he believes that it is the right way. Some follow him. Others resent him, and fight. Thus, the civil war."

"That sounds exactly like Ulfric Stormcloak to me," I commented.

Alyssa looked up at me with surprise. "You met him?"

I started laughing. "Are you kidding? I had been sent to see him. He was waiting for me up in Dragonsreach with the previous Jarl of Whiterun. This was years and years ago, when I was still new blood in the Companions. He was the most stubborn and infuriating man I had hoped to meet."

Alyssa looked amused. "What happened?"

"We had...an argument. I think what irked him the most was that he relied on me to get the mission done."

"And did you?"

"Yup. I didn't have much of a choice. Aileen and Derrick were trapped by the Forsworn. I couldn't abandon them in need." I fell silent, as memories swamped me. I found myself looking down at Meeko, and he looked right back up at me with wide, friendly brown eyes, and let out a bark. "But back to the matter of you becoming a member of the Circle, Alyssa...we all think you've proven honourable enough, by our own standards of honour."

Alyssa hesitated, and then she smiled.

"Very well," she said. "I'll give it my best shot. I'm ready."

* * *

I could still remember the day when I became a member of the Circle. The sun had been warm and friendly overhead, and all the members of the Circle—Orgmund, Samiith, Skjor and Kodlak—had faced me. And Skjor had spoken for me. It had been a wonderful moment, the day when I progressed from member of the Companions to member of the Circle.

Of course, I had already been a werewolf then, so I hadn't had much of a choice.

Now I stood beside Skjor, who stood beside Kodlak. The twins faced opposite us. Alyssa stood in the centre, facing Kodlak, who gazed at her with a trace of sorrow but mostly friendliness glimmering in his faded grey eyes. Then, he began.

"Members of the Circle, we are gathered here to accept another into our number," he announced solemnly. Meeko, who stood beside Alyssa, lifted his head and let out an indignant bark.

"Very well," Kodlak conceded. "We are gathered here to accept two more into our number."

We laughed at the expression on Meeko's face. He pricked his ears, wagged his tail some more, and let out a bark of satisfaction, as though to say, "About time!" Alyssa glanced down at her warhound and rolled her eyes pointedly at him, before turning back to Kodlak.

"Who will speak for Alyssa?" Kodlak asked.

For a moment, there was silence. Who knew her best?

And then I suddenly heard Farkas clear his throat, and then say, "I will speak for her."

Alyssa glanced at Farkas somewhat uncertainly, and she half-narrowed her eyes, but Farkas simply gave a small nod in her direction, before turning back to Kodlak. I had noticed the brief look that had been exchanged between them. _They know something, and she doesn't want it to come out._ Then I remembered Kodlak's words. And I knew that I would just have to wait until she was ready, before she told us this secret that Farkas now carried.

Kodlak gave a small nod, and said, "Would you raise a shield in her defense?"

Farkas's voice was strong. "I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us."

_Ghosts,_ I thought. _There are so many ghosts._ Because the next words that the Circle murmured were the words that my oldest friends had first asked me. I could picture the old Circle standing here, and I was in Alyssa's place.

Skjor was the next to speak. "Would you raise a sword in her honour?"

Thank goodness there was no trace of skepticism in his voice.

Farkas sounded as certain as he had done before. "It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes," he declared, and rested a hand on the hilt of his blade to prove this.

"Would you walk into the arms of death as siblings?" asked Vilkas.

For a moment, I thought that I saw a shadow of fear suddenly flutter over Alyssa's face, but it was gone before I could be permanently sure. Farkas responded as certainly as he did before, though I noted that he did not speak in the same heartfelt way that Skjor had done for me. "I would stride into the depths of Oblivion alongside her, that death itself would not part us."

It was my turn to speak. And I spoke, speaking the words that Lemaat, so long ago, had asked Skjor.

"And in whatever rivalries that will come to the mead hall, whatever bonds that may break, will your own between yourself and Alyssa still burn strong?"

Farkas glanced towards me, and he nodded and responded, "Our bond between us will burn all the brighter, should rivalry spread the others apart."

He glanced at Vilkas and said, "Though I doubt that'd happen."

More laughter rang around the Circle, and Alyssa's face broke into a smile, her black eyes glittering. Meeko wagged his tail furiously and barked happily. And then Kodlak spoke once more.

"And when we gather as a family at the table, would you raise a mug in her honour?"

"I would lead the song of triumph as the mead hall reveled in her stories," Farkas declared.

_And I can just imagine what kind of stories that she would have,_ I thought, glancing at Alyssa. She was so quiet, so mysterious, that I was certain that she had many stories to tell. She had survived Helgen and fought a dragon. That was impressive enough.

"Then the judgement of the Circle is complete," announced Kodlak.

He walked forward, and rested his hands upon Alyssa's shoulders, and gazed deep into her dark eyes, and he said, "Go well, warrior. Fight in the name of the Companions. Bring honour to the mead hall. Voice your fury into your foes."

Alyssa bowed her head. "Thank you, Kodlak."

Kodlak lowered his hands, and then with a smile, he turned to Meeko. "And now for the other one."

We laughed as Meeko proudly lifted his head, and wagged his tail furiously, and let out a questioning bark. Kodlak, still chuckling, announced, "Who will speak for him?"

"I think I'm the only one who can," Alyssa remarked with a grin, kneeling down and fondly scratching behind Meeko's ears.

"Very well." Kodlak took a step back. "Would you call this dog pack-brother?"

Alyssa looked up, her response ready. "He would be like kin to me, wherever we run across the depths of the world."

"Would you hunt your enemies together?" asked Vilkas.

"We would stand at each other's backs, our weapons ready to meet the flesh of our foes," Alyssa declared solemnly. _In other words, arrows and fangs,_ I thought, with a grin of my own.

"Would you place your life in the paws of this warrior?" asked Skjor.

Meeko puffed out his chest proudly, revealing an old scar across his chest, and barked in response, as though to say, "Been there, done that, what else have you got?"

"Oh, shut up, he wasn't talking to you," said Alyssa. Raising her voice, she said, "I would place my very existence in the paws of this dog, and I know that he will do the same for me."

"In times both hard and desperate, and prosperous and jubilous, would you stand together as family, your bonds of friendship as strong as steel?" Farkas asked.

"He is like family to me," said Alyssa, and her voice had grown soft. "Our friendship will never break. Not even in death."

"And would you remain truly loyal to each other?" I asked. "Loyal as man and canine can be, kinship overpowering whatever trials that you may endure?"

Alyssa looked up at me, and her voice was certain as she replied, "We would walk in the lands of death together, and face whatever may be thrown against us, united, and unbroken."

I saw something flitting in her eyes as she spoke. She looked down, and exchanged a long look with Meeko. I realized that there was more to her words than she was letting on. And both she and Meeko knew this. Meeko let out a quiet bark of confirmation.

Kodlak seemed oddly moved by this as well. Either that, or he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Then the judgement of the Circle is complete," he said.

He walked forward and knelt down, and Meeko solemnly walked forward, as though he had been waiting for this moment all his life. I couldn't resist a grin, and Farkas and Vilkas chuckled. Even Skjor looked amused at the solemn way that Meeko strode forward. Then Kodlak rested his hands upon Meeko's hairy shoulders and murmured, "Stride well, four-legged wolf of the wild. Never leave the side of your mistress."

I wasn't mistaken when I saw Meeko nod his head.

_Holy shit,_ I thought. _That dog's intelligence is never going to cease to amaze me._

"Meeko," interrupted Skjor quietly, "are you sure that you're not a werewolf with a human soul?"

We laughed, and Meeko turned around, wagged his tail twice, and let out a growl.

"Nope," grinned Vilkas. "I think he's just pure mutt."

"Wolfhound," corrected Alyssa, with a smile of her own, as Meeko proudly padded back to her side. He lifted his head and barked twice, wagging his tail furiously, as though to say, "Look what I am now!"

"Well," Farkas admitted carefully. "I believe that this was a very interesting initiation."

"Probably the one that hasn't been the most boring," Skjor added.

"Very well," Kodlak said huskily. "We may all return to our duties." He turned to me and Skjor, and said, "Do what you must do."

I nodded. Skjor said, "Thank you, Kodlak. We promise that we will try to be as swift as we can."

Farkas and Vilkas shot us odd looks, but I gave them a glare, warning them not to speak. They simply nodded, and headed back to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak followed them shortly after, until Alyssa, Skjor, Meeko and I were left alone in the training yard.

"So, girl, you're finally one of us," Skjor conceded, breaking the silence that hung between us.

"Yes, I am," Alyssa said softly.

Meeko pressed his side against Alyssa's leg and let out a questioning whimper.

"Yes, I agree with you, boy." Alyssa looked back up at me. "What happens now?"

Skjor and I exchanged a glance.

And we made our decision. Wordlessly. I knew that Skjor was going to agree.

He walked forward and clapped Alyssa's shoulder, and said, "I believe that we have a gift for you. You've done well. Meet me out here this evening, in just a few short hours. Wear some old clothes, and bring your armour and weapons with you, but separately. Don't ask me why."

"I think I know why." Alyssa's voice was subdued. Her eyes were uncertain.

Skjor and I exchanged another look.

_She comes with us. But only as one of us._

Meeko pricked his ears, his hazel eyes puzzled, but didn't speak.

"When it's dusk, come here, in the garments I've requested you wear," murmured Skjor. "I promise you that comes the dawn, things will never be the same in Jorrvaskr again."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to Skyflower for helping me come up with Alyssa's ancestor's name :)**

**If you're curious learning more about Tacita Laryssin, former Champion of Cyrodiil, you'll learn more about her in the second half of Dark Heroes and in Dragonchild. That little review button down there's getting kinda lonely...**

**Anyways, another chapter coming soon. We all know what's gonna happen to Alyssa. But how will she react? See you then!**


	54. Chapter 53 - Hidden Rituals

**A/N: Here we are again! Thank you! I've now got 100 reviews!**

**Disclaimer: What happens next in the Underforge is entirely fictional and made up by me. I wanted it to be slightly different than the in-game style. Skjor and Aela learn who is Hircine's (reluctant) champion during the middle of it...  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Three

It really was incredible just how far Alyssa had come in the short amount of time that she had been with us. I stood quietly in the Underforge alone, for the first time, a donor of blood in the ritual. Skjor had told me that it would be painful. But nobody else would do it for Alyssa.

And she deserved this great, glorious gift of Hircine.

We had to hurry. I grew more restless the longer that I stayed away from Gallows Rock. I sensed that the Silver Hand were there, and Panjor, too. I was ready to end his life, ready to do so with glee and without remorse. Tear him apart, limb from limb, with the claws of the wolf unleashed. Many years I had been hunting him, chasing him.

No more. Soon, he would be dead.

It was nightfall beyond, and I was ill with apprehension. Alyssa was soon to come. Meeko was already waiting with me. He sat quietly beside the altar, waiting tensely for his mistress. He had gone with me to the Underforge, where since the ceremony, I had waited. Skjor stood just outside, ready to show Alyssa into the Underforge, as she hadn't entered it before, and wouldn't know where to look.

I walked over and gently patted Meeko's head.

"Don't worry, boy, she'll be here soon," I assured him. Meeko responded with a soft, quivering bark.

_At least we can kick Vignar out from the sixth-Circle member's room now,_ I thought, with a grin. _Alyssa will be needing it; she can't sleep with the other whelps anymore. Once she intakes the blood of the werewolf, she'll never sleep restfully again._

Of course, a part of me felt immensely guilty. We were going behind Kodlak's back doing this. He hadn't given us our permission. He wanted to throw away the blessing of Hircine, but we knew that it would be wrong to do such a thing. The blood of the beast was a part of the Companions now. Nothing would ever change that. Before Kodlak died, he would realize this, I was sure of it.

I shifted a little where I stood. The night air was cool upon my skin, tempting and tingling with night. What a perfect night for hunting! But we had tasks to do. Kodlak seemed to have such faith and such hope in Alyssa. I was already betraying him by doing this to Alyssa. I wouldn't betray him again. Even so, time was of the essence.

Then I suddenly heard the Underforge door shift open, and my heart leapt as I saw Skjor and Alyssa walk in.

She had done what we had wanted her to do. She wore light, loose clothes. She carried her carefully-folded black leather armour, her bow and her ebony arrows separately.

"I'm glad you came," Skjor commented off-handedly. "Put your clothes over on that altar." He gestured to one of the several smaller circular altars that lined the edge of the room. Alyssa nodded, and placed her armour and weapons on the aligned circle.

In the halflight, I could see her features more clearly. The black hair was twisted back, to reveal her face. I winced at the deep scars that tore through her skin, the black, fathomless eyes. She turned away from her armour, and faced me directly. I could see apprehension written all over her face, even when I wasn't transformed yet.

Skjor nodded. "Good. Now, stand back."

The signal for me to transform. I smiled a little ruefully at Alyssa. "Don't try and attack me, what happens next."

Alyssa cracked a smile of her own. "I've seen Farkas do it. Surely it's not that different?"

That was true. I let out a soft sigh, and stepped back. And I unleashed the wolf.

The change had come over so many times to me that I was used to it now. I even enjoyed it a little. Spending fifteen years as a werewolf, hunting every odd night in the form of one, serving Lord Hircine, allowed me to completely and painlessly mould into the skin of the wolf. Meeko let out a frightened whimper and scrambled backwards, crouching at Alyssa's side, but she looked on almost fearlessly.

When the transformation was complete, I heard myself let out a thundering roar that echoed around the cavernous chamber. Alyssa looked around in some alarm. "Can't anyone hear us?"

"No," said Skjor, and he grinned. "That's the magic of our little Underforge. It's been the secret lair of the Circle for as long as we can remember. The meeting place where we aren't so rudely interrupted by whelps. And when whelps come in, they don't go back out as whelps anymore."

I crouched near the altar, breathing huskily, and I turned what I now knew to be a bronze-eyed stare to Alyssa. _Scared?_ My wolf rumbled.

"Vaguely." Alyssa uncertainly approached the altar. "At least, when you speak in that freaky voice."

"That is the voice of the wild, coming through," I explained, in my normal voice. "Because the wolf is another wild part of you. It lives inside of you, and when you release it, it takes over, until you call it back. Even so, you can still speak with your own voice, if you want."

Alyssa nodded. "So I see. Except your mouth isn't moving. Which is...kind of bizarre. And trust me, I've seen a _lot_ of bizarre things in my life."

"Either way," said Skjor, who was now standing beside me, and facing Alyssa across the altar, "you're not afraid of Aela in either form, which is impressive. More impressive than most who see their friend turn into a werewolf for the...in your case, second time."

Alyssa smiled, and said quietly, "So what happens now?"

"What happens," said Skjor, "is that it is time for you to give up your old life, and become one of us; a member of the Circle. A _true_ member. You must indulge in the beastblood, and become one of His Hounds; a loyal servant of Lord Hircine, a true hunter of this world."

Sudden alarm flared in Alyssa's eyes.

"I...don't think that's a good idea," she said.

"Oh? And why's that?" Skjor inquired, narrowing his eye.

"Well...it's just that...I have a thing with Daedric Lords," said Alyssa, uncertainly. "I've...kind of pissed off some of them." She paused. "Well, a _lot_ of them."

Skjor frowned. "Daedric Lords? You're a Daedric worshipper?"

"No!" snapped Alyssa, and Meeko let out a growl. "Most of the time, I'm dragged into serving them. They've shown an uncanny interest in me. And they keep appearing in the most unexpected of places, too, which is also a bloody nuisance. I've only willingly served one of them. And Hircine...he's...one who I deliberately disobeyed."

My eyes widened. "You served _Hircine!?_"

"How?" growled Skjor, also shocked. "We would've known. We have a sensitive connection with our Lord." Then he frowned and he said, "And you disobeyed him? Deliberately? It's a wonder you're still alive."

"I've asked that myself, a few times, after I finish pissing off a Daedra," Alyssa murmured. "But...it was several months ago. I think...maybe you'd remember...the Bloodmoon, right?"

My eyes widen almost immediately at this. "Who didn't?" I said. "We members of the Circle couldn't even sleep. And then when we saw the Bloodmoon rise..."

"The Bloodmoon called for an ex-member of the Circle's death," said Skjor. "It was what Aela was meant to do, and she did it."

"Then it must have had a double meaning," Alyssa said grimly. "Because I think the Bloodmoon also rose for me. It rose over Bloated Man's grotto, months ago. There was a man in Falkreath called Sinding, who was a werewolf, and who Hircine desired dead."

She shook her head. "I knew that he was genuinely sorry that he had killed the girl. So I let him live, and killed the hunters who were hunting him. I expected Hircine to be angry. But instead, he gave me an odd ring, when I came out of the grotto." She lifted her hand, and for the first time, I noticed upon her finger, a small, silver ring, studded with a wolf's head...much like my own amulet.

Skjor frowned. "And you never told us? Even though you found out what we were?"

"You didn't need to know," Alyssa interrupted. "But now that I'm about to become an eternal servant of another damned Daedric Prince..." her voice, I noted, was unusually bitter. "...then I figured you might as well know now."

Skjor looked puzzled. "You don't wish to be bound to Hircine?"

"If I had a choice, I'd probably say no," Alyssa said. "But...I don't have a choice, it seems. To become one of you, I must take the blood. And I'll take it, to be truly accepted." She looked earnest when she spoke this, though also worried. "But...I have to know. What will being a lycanthrope mean?"

"What it'll mean," said Skjor, "is that you will be a daughter of Hircine, the Huntsman of the Princes. You will serve him in life, and you will go to the Hunting Grounds in death." He slid out a dagger as he spoke, and I now looked rather apprehensively at the sharpness of it. "Should you defy Hircine, you will be punished."

Alyssa suddenly smiled.

"The last time I defied him, I ended up getting a ring that will control the Bloodlust, should I ever turn into a werewolf," she said. "And to give me all the strengths of a fully-matured wolf, too. At the time, I wasn't sure what I'd do with the ring. I thought Hircine was just having me on. But I didn't have the heart to get rid of it. So I kept it. Now I think Hircine was just playing with me. He knew that I was going to become a werewolf one day."

"What I don't understand," I said, "was why he even rewarded you if you disobeyed him."

"He was amused," sighed Alyssa. "Amused that I had turned the hunt 'inside-out'. He let Sinding live, and me live, and he gave me the ring, originally cursed, now cleansed and with great power. I guess...I guess it'll become useful now."

She turned to Skjor and nodded. "Very well. I'm ready."

Skjor inclined his head slightly. I suddenly knew what was to come, but perhaps sensing my sudden flash of doubt, Skjor reached over and firmly grabbed my wrist, and he pulled it over the altar. I forced all fear and apprehension out of my eyes, and braced myself for the sudden sharp, searing pain that would come when the dagger ripped through my skin.

Skjor readied the dagger. Then, from the top of my wrist to my elbow, he sliced—hard. I couldn't resist a growl of agony, as I felt the blade rip deep and sharp, and I felt my own warm blood drip into the altar.

Skjor was right. It was bloody painful.

Alyssa watched the blood from my arm fall into the altar, splashing into a small, crimson pool. When Skjor finally released my arm, I immediately lifted it and rasped my tongue quickly over the wound, stifling the bloodflow before it became critical. Already I was feeling a bit light-headed from blood loss. When I was finished with my licking, I lowered my arm. It felt slightly better. Then I turned to Alyssa.

Skjor nodded his head once. "Drink," he said.

But Alyssa was hesitating. She leaned over the altar. Then, she looked up at me and Skjor again.

"What happens if...if you're already promised somewhere else?" she asked nervously.

Nervous. She was _nervous_. She was afraid. I could smell the fear that was suddenly coming from Alyssa. As if she was going behind someone's back.

"Who are you already promised to?" demanded Skjor, almost angrily. "You already defied all the Daedra."

"Except one." Alyssa's voice was quiet, hoarse. "Nocturnal. I...I served her. Now I am bound to her. I'm doomed to go to Evergloam when I die." Then, she frowned. "I'm also meant to go to Sovngarde when I die. And if I take this blood, then I'll have to go to the Hunting Grounds, too." She shook her head despairingly and said, "I don't have three spirits. I only have one. Restless and unnatural as it is, my soul can't be in three places. So what am I meant to do?"

"All Nords go to Sovngarde when they die," I said. "You'll just be...well, not going there, that's all."

"And you're bound to Nocturnal, huh?" Skjor sniffed with dissatisfaction. "Evergloam's her realm, right? Well, it looks like your Lady and our Lord will just have to decide in the end who you favour the most."

"But I don't want to favour them." Alyssa's voice was suddenly soft. "I want to be _free_. And I can't." Her voice became bitter once again. "My contract with Nocturnal was sealed with my soul. And...and with my soul, it's a big thing."

"Take the blood of the wolf," Skjor growled, "and you _will_ be free. The world of Skyrim will be open to you in a way that you never understood before. Delve into the blood, embrace it and accept it, and you will run free and wild, unmatched in strength nor speed. The Hunting Grounds are the lands of paradise, endless hunting for eternity. What much more freedom can you have?"

For a moment, Alyssa was silent. Then, I swore that she whispered, "The freedom of flight."

Perhaps I misheard. Maybe she meant 'light'.

But I was confused. Evergloam, if the stories of Nocturnal's realm of Oblivion was true, was meant to be nothing but a land of shadow. But I had a feeling that she wasn't talking about Evergloam. Sovngarde? How would she go there in the end, if she was already soul-bound into service of a Daedric Prince?

"I will take the blood nonetheless," Alyssa said, firmly, decisively. She leaned forward, and I watched as she scooped my blood in her hands, and cupped them.

"As you drink, you will fall into a sleep," said Skjor quietly. "You will wake in an unfamiliar place...that is, if you survive the ritual. And you will feel different. Everything will be sharper and clearer. And you will be one of us. A child of the Hunt." He smiled. "We'll see you when we wake up."

Alyssa nodded. "Thanks for the concern," she said drily. Then, she lifted her hands, and she drank.

It was then that I remembered what Kodlak had told me.

_I looked into those dark eyes and I saw...pain._

And I fully appreciated his words now, the moment that Alyssa drank the beastblood. Because the instant that it touched her lips, her eyes widened. And she screamed.

It was the most awful scream that I had ever heard in my life. Skjor even seemed to sense that something was wrong. He made for Alyssa but she jerked back, and she screamed again. Her black eyes were stretched wide, I realized, with unspeakable agony. She clutched at her chest as though afraid it was going to burst apart.

I let out a warning howl and bounded forward, though I receded when I sensed the energy, the aura, that seemed to enfold her. It felt dark and cold. Skjor took an uncertain step back, realizing that something was horribly wrong. Alyssa's voice died, and the scars...the scars upon her face. They began to bleed, as though they had been torn apart.

"What the hell is happening to her!?" I shrieked.

But then a deep, throaty and unearthly sound escaped her. A terrible sound tore through her, a roar that spoke nothing but rage. Endless rage. Rage and fury, rage so great that I flinched, as though it were being directed at me. That was when Alyssa began to change.

Blindly she staggered backwards, her hands over her head. Her clothes ripped and tore as her body morphed and shifted. Already I could see that she had lost consciousness. Partially. But then I realized something.

"Oh, shit...Skjor, she's going for the door!"

Skjor ran towards Alyssa, who was almost fully transformed, for the first time, into her wolf form. At the same time she tripped and stumbled, and she shouldered her way back out from the Underforge, a deep, dreadful snarl escaping her throat. And then suddenly she was outside, and I began to bound after her, as Meeko, whimpering, bounded after her, as did Skjor.

At the entrance, Skjor whipped around and shouted, "Get outside! Lure her away with the call! Go! I've got to protect—"

He never finished the sentence. Because we both heard a powerful roar, the roar of the transformation complete, the roar of the wolf. It echoed not around the Underforge. It echoed around Whiterun. And I heard a guard shout, "What in Oblivion—!?"

Skjor ran out without another word, as did I. I fled down the tunnel that led directly to the wilderness of Whiterun, leaping down onto the ground and sprinting across the grasslands, rounding back towards the city. I could hear Alyssa's roars, and they were loud—much louder than I had ever imagined a werewolf to be. I could hear them clearly where I stood beyond the city walls, and the screams of the guardsmen as they faced what they could only assume to be a monster.

I lifted back my head, and summoning all my strength I unleashed the call.

The call of the wild.

It was nothing more than a deep, melodic howl that echoed around the landscape of Whiterun Hold. But to a werewolf, a newborn, it was everything. The snarling and howling from Whiterun came to an abrupt end, and I knew that Alyssa was listening.

I drew breath and howled once again, energy flooding through me as I roared the call.

Then Alyssa responded with a wild howl of her own.

A moment later, I saw a black shape suddenly explode over the city walls, accompanied by a volley of arrows, which all missed her. Alyssa fell several feet over the walls, landed on the grass and rolled back onto her paws and kept running, bounding with the speed of a diving hawk across the grass towards where I stood commandingly, waiting for her.

I snarled as she approached, and she responded with a few rough, throaty barks. She paced around me sniffing my dark fur. And in the light of the twin moons above, I could see what kind of brute Alyssa had morphed into.

She was a large, lean-bodied she-wolf, with dark, coal-black fur and stormy-silver skin. Her ears were flattened against her head, the fur ruffled upon her shoulders. Her eyes, I saw, were black as her fur, instead of the traditional bronze. Her snout was covered with a series of gashes not unlike the scars on her face when she was in human form. They were bleeding. What caused them to bleed?

Then I realized that the blood on her face wasn't just her own.

It swung from her jaws and stained her fangs, and there was a familiar, wild glint in her eyes. The same look that I saw in Skjor's eyes when he feasted upon blood and flesh of a fallen animal.

Alyssa growled as if to confirm my worst fears. She had killed a guard.

_She had killed a guard._

And the Bloodlust was high. Alyssa was rapidly changing. She needed to feed. She looked senseless, driven crazy and mad. She let out a savage bark, and I was startled by the dark intentions in her eyes. And I knew that I would have to lead her away. The scent of anything alive and unlike her would lead her to kill and to destroy and to consume.

I let out a commanding snarl, and leapt away. Alyssa roared and followed me. I hesitated, glancing back over at the city, wondering if Skjor would suddenly come, transformed, bounding across the ground after us. Where was Meeko?

And then suddenly Alyssa tore away from me, no longer following my command. I whirled around to see her sprinting east. I let out a bark of panic and without thinking, I followed her. I had to watch her, guide her away from the people. And so we ran, sprinting across the Hold. Alyssa almost effortlessly kept pace with me, the wildness in her eyes only increasing. She let out a savage howl and threw herself forwards, sprinting past me, racing up and over the stony slopes, heading towards Fellglow Keep.

And then I knew where we would go.

We would go straight there.

Gallows Rock.

I roared, giving once more the call of the hunt, drawing Alyssa's attention to me. She growled her confirmation that she would follow. And together we ran, me leading the way. I knew where Gallows Rock was. All that remained was to reach it.

We'd follow the White River. I led the way down over towards the shore, letting out a snarl of pleasure as the water splashed at my ankles. Alyssa barked roughly as she saw fish flickering in the depths of the water, though they fled when they saw two bloody big werewolves pounding through the water. I barked, leapt, and cleared the bank, crossing over to the other side, to the road, which (hopefully) was empty.

A bandit camp, I knew, was drawing near. We'd have to pass it to get to Gallows Rock.

And it was inevitable, what the outcome of the strong scent of prey would do to a newly-transformed werewolf drunk on Bloodlust.

When her bloody massacre of the towers was completed, we ran on.

I hoped that Skjor would find us soon.

* * *

We came to the dark woods that surrounded the Gallows Rock. At first, I was afraid that Alyssa's dark savagery would cause her to howl and shriek as we drew near. But I sensed that she was fast losing strength as we entered the woods. Every movement was a struggle for her to make. Her eyes were dull and gleaming with exhaustion. Then, slowly, Alyssa staggered forwards, and her legs just gave way beneath her, and she collapsed where she stood.

She was unconscious.

I hesitated, and then backed up, and prowled to Alyssa's side. She was unmoving, her eyes half-open and glazed, her jaws partially agape. The wind ruffled her fur and she didn't move in response to it, even though it was icy, bringing with it the bitter freeze of the north Holds. Gently, I pushed my snout into Alyssa's shoulder fur, and felt a flicker of life in her.

Barely.

Fear leapt into my throat. Kodlak told me that sometimes, the wolf spirit's strength overwhelmed the body. Killed its host during the transformation. Would Alyssa succumb?

Her scream of pain as she transformed and felt the blood take over still rung in my mind. The unnatural sense of darkness that surrounded her as she morphed still in my memory. The way that her scars had been torn open, and that her blood fell over her face, as though the huge claws of a sabre cat had torn them apart again. Now, she lay limp, lifeless, upon the ground, completely lost in whatever dark world she was walking within now.

I gently licked her fur, trying to rouse her, but she didn't stir.

The undergrowth abruptly crackled nearby and I spun around, baring my fangs in a snarl, expecting to find myself facing the Silver Hand. But instead, a familiar black body bounded through the darkness, bronze eye and grey eye bright with relief.

"Skjor!" I called.

Skjor bounded up to my side. I noticed that swinging from his jaws was a large sack, which I presumed had all of Alyssa's gear in it. He dropped it down on the grass nearby and glanced at Alyssa. "She's out?" he guessed, sounding somewhat amused.

"After leading a historical scourge at the Valtheim Towers, yes," I said, somewhat wearily. "Wait a moment...where's Meeko?"

"I sent him back to Jorrvaskr. I think Meeko realized that he couldn't hope to control his mistress, and he was terrified at her savaging. He must be hiding under Farkas's bed right now."

Then I remembered the blood that had stained Alyssa's muzzle when I first saw her, fully transformed, in the wilderness of Whiterun. The livid, wild look that flashed in her dark eyes. And I turned to Skjor and asked him, "Who did she kill?"

Skjor shook his huge, shaggy head in disbelief. "I ran out there after her. Alyssa was already fighting about ten guardsmen at the base of the Gildergreen. The townspeople still awake at that hour fled into their houses screaming. Then suddenly I saw her pin one of the guards to the ground, and just...rip him apart. She feasted on him and spun around to find another. I really think she must've lost it then. The look in her eyes...it was completely and utterly feral. I had to lure her away before she could maul any of the other guards."

"How many did she injure?" I asked.

"Some five or six. I'm pretty sure a second died of his injuries. Then Alyssa heard the call of the wild, promptly bounded back up to Jorrvaskr, around to the training yard, onto the lookout tower and down from the walls and into the grasslands, and then she was gone. It was a complete and utter uproar when she left, though. People screaming left and right, and someone ran to go and awaken the Jarl. In the confusion I slipped into the Underforge, shoved her things into this bag, morphed, and set off after you."

I shook my head. "Bloody hell."

"That's only putting it lightly." Skjor narrowed his eye at Alyssa. "When she wakes up, I'll have to have a word about that ring of hers. Hircine obviously wanted to torture his rebellious champion tonight by making her lead a massacre on the townspeople of Whiterun. Hopefully that ring, if according to what Alyssa says is true, will control her Bloodlusts in the future."

He frowned for a moment longer, before he stepped back, and his form shivered, as he reined in the wolf and morphed smoothly back into his own form. I hesitated for a moment, looking around and sniffing the air for any signs of danger—I sensed that we were close to Gallows Rock now—before I imitated Skjor and pulled my wolf, howling with reluctance, back into the depths of my mind and bringing my own consciousness forward.

Skjor and I knelt down beside Alyssa's form. Skjor gently prised open her eyelid, and recoiled in shock as he saw the black depths beneath. "Shit, is that her eye colour?"

I nodded. "Whatever turned her eye colour that way...well, it must've had a lasting effect, for it to even do that in her beast form."

Skjor slowly shook his head, getting over his surprise, and gently running his hands through her fur. He frowned. "The beastblood is slowly killing her. But we can't do anything. She'll have to overcome it by herself," he growled. He gave Alyssa a gentle shove and said, "That's what happens when you piss off a Daedric Prince, Alyssa. And to think that she pissed off some thirteen others, too...she's going to have a pretty chaotic afterlife, I'm sure."

I headed over to the sack and upended it. Several weapons fell out of it, as well as the dark leather armour. Putting it in the grass near where Alyssa lay, along with her quiver of ebony arrows and her weapon, and discovering to my surprise and delight that Skjor had brought my weapons along too, I turned back to Skjor and said, "So, we're here, then."

"Yes." Skjor straightened and went to collect his fallen Skyforge steel sword. He picked it up and swung it a few times, testing its balance, before sliding it smoothly back into its sheath and strapping it around his hips. "This is where Panjor and his band of hunters are, yes?"

I nodded and frowned. "More than anything, I want to go in there, and tear Panjor limb from limb."

"Not yet." Skjor rested a hand on my shoulder, and glanced meaningfully down at Alyssa. "A group of Silver Hand warriors comes by here and sees her in this state...well, she won't wake up anyway if she's got no head."

"Concerned for Alyssa? That's new."

Skjor snorted. "As far as I'm concerned, she's a pack-sister now. Even if I dislike her, she's still one of us, and I'm not willing to see a Silver Hand rip her head off just because she's a werewolf. Stay here with her. I'll go and scout ahead."

I frowned. "Alone?"

"Trust me, I'll be fine," Skjor assured me. "I mean, we've been through worse, right? You with the dragons and me with the Forsworn...and don't forget those bastards and bitches killed you and you still came back nonetheless."

He rested a hand on my shoulder and gazed into my eyes. "And I've got something to come back to. I'll be fine, Aela. Nothing will ever harm me."

"I know." I gently pulled him into my embrace, gazing up into his bright eye, the eye that sparkled with life and love and warmth. "But I'll still worry for you nonetheless. You and I both know that."

Skjor chuckled, running a hand down the side of my face. "You needn't worry for me, my little she-wolf. I've always come back to you, haven't I?"

"You promised me," I whispered, "that we'd hunt together."

"We are hunting together," Skjor reasoned. "I'm going to trace the prey, and you're going to help me kill it. We can set an example to this newborn werewolf...and hope that she's good with a bow."

"She's okay," I said. "We'll manage. But, love, come back to me."

I knew that Skjor was probably wondering why I was whispering these words. But Olava's prophecy flashed in my mind. The Silver Hand, stealing away my most beloved. I was hoping...desperately...that I had shattered that part of the prophecy, broken it and defied fate, when I saved Skjor from Patros and Dasha. But...what if it hadn't come yet? We were walking right into the lair of the Silver Hand. And Skjor was saying that he was to go...alone. I wanted him to be beside me, with me, when he and I and Alyssa ventured into the ruins of Gallows Rock.

"Of course I will." Skjor smiled. "Death itself couldn't part us. It'll never part us."

His lips briefly met my own, and I relaxed into that joyous moment when we could just fall into passion and desire for one another. But it was painfully brief. Skjor pulled away gently and murmured, "You've never acted this sentimental before, Aela."

I softly chuckled and gave him a gentle push, playfully breaking our embrace. "Don't forget we're talking about the man who killed me."

"True, that," Skjor said. "But he failed. And we're both stronger wolves since the last time we encountered him. I'm sure that we'll find him, and we'll bring him down, make him scream for mercy before the end because of what he did to you. We'll remove those scars on your heart for good."

I smiled. "Those scars vanished long ago, Skjor..."

Skjor returned the smile. I felt his hand leave mine, and he murmured, "Watch over Alyssa. When she awakens, she, you and I will find the Silver Hand. We'll kill them all, in the name of our Lord Hircine. And when this is over, we'll finally be able to be together."

The very prospect of being together forever, united in love and bound by it, warmed my heart. "Hunt well," I whispered.

Skjor's eye lingered upon mine. Then, he turned, and like a shadow, he vanished into the undergrowth. The branches rattled and quivered after him.

I stood staring out after him for a moment. Then, I sat down, my mind already on the hunt, and when Alyssa would finally wake up. She seemed so deathly still now.

* * *

My heart wouldn't be healed tonight. If I had known this, I would have turned back.

But it was too late. I found this out too late.

My heart was torn into pieces that night, pieces that would never heal. Because that was the night when everything fell down around me. When everything I had loved, that I had believed in, a future beyond that of endless fighting and killing, simply vanished, and was snatched away from my grasp.

I didn't know that I had looked into Skjor's warm eye for the last time. That our lips had met for the last time. That I had watched him disappear from my life forever. And that the rest of the prophecy was soon to come in an endless tide. That the suffering I had endured over the past few years had been only a taste of the grief that was to come.

* * *

**A/N: God, I feel awful, knowing what's to come of this...**

**Thank you everyone who's read, plz review! Yes, this is just my imagination what happens in what happens when you pass out after becoming a werewolf in the game. No, Aela doesn't know that Krev the Skinner (an old friend...) is the current leader in the Silver Hand, as she points out to you before you go into the final room. Just a forewarning!  
**

**Stick around, we meet another old friend in the cages in the old Fort. An imaginary chocolate fish to anyone who can guess who's going to be the old friend in the cages!  
**


	55. Chapter 54 - Hunting Silver

**A/N: People, please put your Kleenex boxes away. This chapter originally was going to lead right up until you-know-what happens, but if that happened, it'd be very long. It will come out in chapter fifty-five. My sincere apologies if you are disappointed, or you wish to throw something large, solid and heavy at me for making you wait. I completely understand. I also apologize in the delay of getting this chapter on cyberspace.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Four

I heard movement beyond.

I sat up abruptly, listening intently, as I began to hear the calls of the Silver Hand. They moved just over the rise, from my point where I could see the outline of Gallows Rock. My fists clenched in anger, and more than anything, I wanted to go and tear them apart, end their pitiful lives.

But my concern for Alyssa rooted me to the spot.

I glanced towards her again. She still hadn't stirred. Her breathing had slowed further. I was beginning to doubt her strength. Had she even been strong enough in the first place? I felt guilt flood through me. Had my blood been too strong for her to handle? Or had she not been ready? Had my eagerness to reach the Rock overruled the welfare of the newest member of the Circle?

I remembered the way that she had screamed. Such pain had thrummed in her voice. Pain which I couldn't hope to describe. I shivered as the echoes of it played in my head. _Whatever gave her those scars...whatever made those marks on her...it was something bad,_ I thought. _It's obviously traumatizing her. But what happened?_

The questions continued to whirl in my mind. And almost immediately, they were dashed, when I suddenly saw the tiniest spark of hope for Alyssa flash before my eyes.

She moved.

Only slightly, but it was enough to make me jump to my feet and kneel by her side. Her breathing was starting to grow more consistent, stronger. And relief stronger than anything I had felt in years flooded through me. She was going to make it. She was going to pull through.

I stepped back and watched as suddenly her form began to shiver and tremble. The wolf let out a sleepy whine as it prowled into the back of Alyssa's consciousness, and her human form coming through. A few seconds later, in the wolf's place lay a slender woman with black hair, lying sprawled on her front on the soft grass, still unconscious.

And I saw the scars that slashed through her back. They were reddish and very long, almost like whip-lash marks, though they were far crueler and deeper than any tail of a whip could ever do. And it didn't look like the clumsy slashes of a whip, either. More precise. Almost like blade marks. The longest stretched from her shoulder to her waist.

_Gods,_ I thought in awe. _What has this woman been through in her life?_

I went and gathered her things—her black arrows, her dark bow, and her black leather armour—and rested it just beside her, ready for her to receive when she awoke. Then I stepped back, and waited, and hoped, that she would pull through.

A few minutes passed in a tense silence. And then, I watched as suddenly she moved, slightly. She half-raised her head and stiffened as though it hurt, and blinked a few times. Her scars hadn't healed, and still looked bloody, but I could see her black eyes gleaming from her face, which looked strained and exhausted.

"Aela?" she rasped, almost quizzically.

"You're awake at last," I responded. "Thank goodness; I thought you never would."

Alyssa frowned slightly. "What...happened?"

"You've been born into the pack, sister." I remembered that those words had been exactly what Skjor had said to me, when I asked what had happened, when I finally came around. And I felt a small thrill of pride pass through me as I spoke these words now to Alyssa. "You're one of us now."

Then I frowned in concern and said, "You caused a lot of trouble on your first turning. More so than Farkas. Do you realize that you killed a guard while you were in your beast form?"

Alyssa's eyes flew wide in horror. "What...no...no!" She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, and unsteadily pushed herself into a sitting position, one hand moving towards her armour. "I...I don't understand. I don't remember anything."

"You turned feral quickly," I replied. "The wolf overpowered you. You morphed into the beastblood while you were lost in red dreams. Did you hear a voice growl in your mind? Urging you to hunt? To hunt in the name of the Father?"

"Yes..." Alyssa pulled her armour on, though her movements were steady and awkward, and she winced more than once. "It growled in my mind, moments before I fell unconscious. Of course...there was something much worse than that wolf's voice muttering in my mind." She lowered her eyes, and sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have done it..."

"Why?" Concern for her shot through me. "What happened?"

"I had nightmares," Alyssa responded. "Or visions. Or something. But the Daedra. They came; all of them. And they..." she half-closed her eyes and shivered. "They each tried to drag me into their own realms. Quagmire, Moonshadows, Realms and Evergloam. Hircine tried the hardest to pull me into the Hunting Grounds. I had to resist. I couldn't. It was fortunate I got to my father's light before I succumbed to the darkness that threatened to engulf me for good."

"Your father's light?"

"Akatosh's."

I stared at her. "You're a priestess of Akatosh? And you served the Daedra?"

"As I said before, I didn't exactly ask to serve them," Alyssa responded irritably. "And it feels wrong if I don't serve Akatosh. I am a priestess of Akatosh, my father...in a way, of sorts. I just don't spend a lot of time in the temples, that's all."

She slung her quiver of arrows over her back and her bow just over.

"Are you all right?" I asked, as she unsteadily pushed herself to her feet.

"Yeah...I'll be fine. I...may have been through worse." Alyssa leaned against a nearby tree for a moment, breathing deeply, and looking as though she had just awoken from being stunned over the back of the head. Then, she pushed herself away from the tree trunk and to my relief, she stood more surely on the ground, her head raised high and her eyes clear and focused. She used this newfound energy to look around. "So...where exactly are we?"

"The woods in Eastmarch," I responded. "As a...celebration...for your turning, we've arranged a little surprise for you. Skjor's already scouting ahead." I let my voice harden, as I remembered why we were here. And who I was going to kill. After all these years, it would finally be over. "We're near a Silver Hand hideout. And we're going to slaughter them. All of them."

Alyssa narrowed her eyes slightly. "I see. Did Skjor go alone?"

"Yes. I couldn't exactly leave you behind."

"Appreciate it." Alyssa looked wearied. "If the beastblood allows me to stay awake for longer periods of time, then it's good. I haven't been really able to sleep right since..." she gestured glumly to her appearance, and continued. "Well, you don't need to worry about what did this to me now. What I need to worry about is managing this...wolf. Already it's growling in my head for blood."

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'll come right, don't worry."

"Then let's go."

Alyssa nodded and drew her bow, gripping the handle tightly. "After you."

I looked carefully over Alyssa once again, making sure that she was truly all right. Few who defied the Daedra lived for long afterwards. And the moonlight above caught on something. Her pendant, the little golden dragon with the blue eyes, swung at her throat, resting just over her black armour. For a moment, it quite strongly made me think of Akatosh.

I drew my own bow. "Follow my lead."

And moving as one, we headed up towards Gallows Rock.

* * *

There were only three Silver Hand outside the fort. They didn't stand a chance against my and Alyssa's archery skills. A moment later, they lay dead, arrows piercing their hearts and throats. Alyssa approached the two she had shot down and pulled her arrows free of their corpses.

"That was easy," she stated.

"It'll get even easier." I hid my apprehension at seeing Panjor again. Fifteen years since he had given the command for me and Samiith to die, and it would all be over in a matter of moments. I looked around. "Hm. That's odd. Skjor said he'd be out here."

"Maybe he's still inside," Alyssa suggested.

_Yeah, maybe._ I hid the slightest tingle of unease that flowed through me at my hesitation. I sheathed my bow over my back and drew my dagger, and gestured for Alyssa to follow. Wordlessly, she obeyed, and fell into step just behind me as I pried open the door. Within, it was cold and dark, but my keen senses and Alyssa's newfound ones allowed us to move through the passageway and into the first chamber.

"Oh...charming," Alyssa muttered beside me.

I glanced towards her, wondering what she was on about, when I saw. I clenched my teeth to stop myself from retching. A werewolf's head, glazed bronze eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, had been impaled on a spike driven into the ground. Flies buzzed around the corpse.

For a fleeting moment, I was stiffened in terror that it was Skjor.

But two immediate signs told me that it was not him. One, the werewolf's eyes were both bronze. Two, the scent was unfamiliar.

"I'll get the lever," Alyssa offered, brushing past me, and taking great care to step disdainfully and widely around the impaled werewolf head. I looked up towards the portcullis that blocked our path, and the lever which stood just beside it. She put her bow down and heaved her weight against the lever, which slid into place and raised the gate, allowing us to pass through beneath it.

Lights glowed up ahead, and voices came to our ears.

"You think she'll come?"

I dropped down into a stealthy crouch and crept nearer.

"Definitely. That one who passed through earlier...a scout, obviously," responded a second speaker. "She'll be coming in soon enough. With any luck, with a few more of her vile moon-siblings."

"Panjor made a mistake, leaving her head intact," commented a third. "Let's hope he doesn't make the same mistake this time."

"He had his reasons, I guess, for letting her live for another day, or a few more years," the first speaker responded.

I clenched my dagger. Beside me, Alyssa was ready. She had drawn a black arrow, and pressed it to the twine of her bow, and gave a single nod of confirmation.

Then, I rose slowly to my feet, and stepped around the pillar that obscured us from immediate sight of the Silver Hand. They were gathered around a small fire pit, and sharply looked up as they saw the shadows behind them flicker.

"Give my regards to the Huntsman," I said. I threw my dagger.

It sank into the chest of the nearest Silver Hand. He screamed in pain as the blade drove perfectly into his flesh. Falling backwards, the other two leapt to their feet with an angered roar, their eyes blazing with fury and recognition. So they knew who I was and why I had come.

"Now!" I shouted.

The black arrow sank out from the shadows, sinking into the hip of one of the Silver Hand, who fell with a cry of pain, his silver sword falling from his grasp. I flinched as the heat of the metal rolled off from the blade, and the wolf in me growled in displeasure.

The other Silver Hand leapt at me with silver greatsword raised. I fell backwards at once, narrowly missing the blade, diving towards where the Silver Hand I had killed had fallen. I wrenched the dagger from his chest and spun around to counter the powerful blow of the greatsword-bearer.

His swing went clumsily to the side, and wasn't difficult to shrug off. Why was probably because of the arrow that had landed squarely in his back. Alyssa looked down at the warrior who had been mortally wounded, but had not died, pulled out another arrow, and drove it into his throat, abruptly ending his suffering.

"Six down, more to go," she commented.

I slipped my dagger into my belt and said, "Let's go. I want to find Skjor."

But as we passed by a closed door off to one side, Alyssa suddenly stiffened behind me.

"I...I can detect something," she said.

I paused and sniffed the air. "There's another werewolf nearby."

Alyssa opened the door, and let out a yelp of horror and leapt backwards almost at once. I looked through the doorway and stiffened, as I saw a large, fully-transformed werewolf hanging from its wrist from a wooden spike driven high in the wall. Its eyes were glazed with death. But its body was slashed and torn in the most gruesome of places.

I scented the air and replied, "Nobody we know, by the smell."

"It...its eyes...it still looks as savage as Meeko when he's confronted by an enemy in battle," Alyssa murmured.

I glanced at her. "It probably died feral. Poor sod. Some just can't separate the beast from themselves." _Or have no choice._ I remembered Orgmund, and how happy he had been when I finally had released him, and he had bounded up into the stars and the sky, racing in a wolven form to the Hunting Grounds. "They turn feral, savage, as you do the first time you turn. That's when the wolf is in control of your body and mind, and is turning you to the ways of the pack. You turn feral the way that you did the first time, you're probably going to be out of control of your own body for the rest of your life."

Alyssa frowned. "Do you turn feral with age?"

"...no. Hircine takes your mind if he wants you to serve him day and night."

Alyssa looked shocked. "Oh, shit. I think I'm screwed. Maybe I shouldn't have pissed him off."

"Relax, Alyssa. I'm sure that Hircine has more uses for you while you're still in command of the wolf in you," I said to her. "Anyway, we can't do anything for this one now. Let's keep going."

"Yeah...let's." Alyssa looked pitifully at the wolf for a moment, before she turned and followed me somewhat hesitantly into the darker and cooler catacombs of the Rock.

As we progressed, I began to grow more anxious. Skjor wasn't anywhere to be seen.

* * *

When we came to another part of the chambers, where rows of cages were lined up wall to wall, I dropped into a crouch at the foot of the stairs with Alyssa beside me.

"Sense anything?" I asked, deciding to test how well she was in sync with her wolf senses.

Alyssa paused, lifting her head slightly. Then she commented, "There are three wolves in some of the cages. Two Silver Hand are guarding them."

I checked myself. I could hear the snarling and snuffling of several werewolves, and the footsteps of the Silver Hand warriors as they patrolled the dimly-lit corridors just outside the iron bars of the cages.

"You take one and I'll take the other?" I offered.

"We'll see who's the faster shot," Alyssa agreed, flashing me a wolfish grin.

We drew our bows in unison and pulled out our arrows, ebony and Skyforge steel. We crept a little way up the stairs until we could just look over the edge of the stonework of the floor, where we saw the Silver Hand on either side of the stone wall that split the room into two corridors. Currently, they were both on the same side of the room. One of them had just sat down at a candlelit table.

"Take your pick," I whispered.

"I call the one who's about to move," Alyssa said.

"But one isn't—"

Alyssa's arrow whisked into the gloom, and for a heartbeat, I thought she was going to miss. But, as she had predicted, the Silver Hand who was standing abruptly turned as Alyssa loosed her arrow. As a result, the arrowhead burrowed perfectly into the Silver Hand's chest. The warrior stopped in shock, staring numbly at the arrow stuck in her chest, before she slumped to the side, already dead.

The other leapt up from the table with a shout of fear and astonishment. At that moment, I loosed my own arrow. She spun around at the soft sound of my arrow speeding through the air, and gasped as it sank into her throat. Her eyes glazed with death and she fell as well.

"Nice," Alyssa said, as she straightened and sheathed her bow over her shoulder, and climbed up the last few steps. I followed her, impressed with her archery.

"You're not half bad yourself," I replied as modestly as I could.

Alyssa nodded, accepting my praise, before she let her eyes wander to the werewolves who were trapped in the cages. They peered out from behind the bars, staring at us with wide bronze eyes, puzzlement and hope flashing in their depths.

"More feral wolves?" asked Alyssa.

I was about to respond when I heard a rough voice suddenly growl, "Hey...beef roast. Over here, kid."

Both Alyssa and I spun around at the sound of the voice, because we both recognized it. Alyssa's eyes widened with surprise, and almost at once she hurried straight towards one of the cages. I followed more warily.

"Alyssa, you know him?"

"You kidding? He's my brother," Alyssa responded, as she approached the nearest cage.

I stopped in surprise.

"Not a bloodbound one," Alyssa corrected, as she stopped outside the cage, where an all-too-familiar creature huddled within. "An oath-bound one. Arnbjorn, you all right?"

"Hmph. I've been better." Arnbjorn glared cautiously at me, and his lips twitched back in a snarl. "Though your company isn't one I expected."

Alyssa frowned slightly, and glanced from me to Arnbjorn. "You two have met?"

"Not just me," growled Arnbjorn. "I presume that you remember Maisha and Kathrgol, Huntress?"

I turned around, and frowned. Oh, didn't I recognize them. The silver she-wolf and the scarred and the grizzled one, both who had attacked me and both who I had defended myself against in the wilderness of Whiterun Hold. They peered out at me fearfully from the shadows of their iron cages. As I watched, the scarred wolf—Kathrgol, as Arnbjorn had called him—let out a frightened whimper, and threw an anxious glance towards the bodies of the Silver Hand, at least what he could see through the bars of his cell.

"Now who are helpless?" I said, hardly keeping the sneer from my voice.

Alyssa frowned slightly. "Obviously you three have met before. And not on good terms."

"You remember several days ago that I mentioned that Skjor and I had run into some wolves?"

"Oh, brother, don't tell me..." Alyssa turned and glared at Arnbjorn, who let out a rasping chuckle.

"Wondered why I returned to the Sanctuary battered and bruised, hm?" Arnbjorn growled. "Well, it was none of your concern to worry. Of course, I hadn't expected you to ally yourself with a bunch of wild mutts calling themselves Companions."

"Thanks for the compliment, Arn," Alyssa replied, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sure you can smell the change over me. Now, do you want me to get you out of there or do you want to wait to get decapitated and impaled on a spike?"

"Just leave them there," I told Alyssa. "They deserve it. They almost killed me and Skjor out there."

"And it's a bugger we didn't," growled Arnbjorn, baring his in hatred at me. "Of course, the Silver Hand are going to take care of that."

"What do you mean?" I asked sharply.

Arnbjorn curled back his lips in a sneer. "Your boyfriend ran past, Huntress. I heard a commotion in the upper chambers. Some crazy loon declared rather vocally that he was going to enjoy skinning another mutt. And then there was silence. Of course, I think we can all presume what's happened..."

Horror dropped down into my guts, as a memory flashed before my eyes.

"_Secure them, Krev."_

_Hands grabbed me from behind, and another wrapped around my throat, and for a moment I struggled, wildly, even though I knew that I couldn't overpower whoever was holding me from behind. Beside me, Samiith pulled wildly against his securers._

_"Old Krev's going to enjoy skinning you when this is over," a voice hissed in my ear._

"Oh, no..." I whispered.

"Oh, yes," smirked Arnbjorn. "But you'd best hurry. They only passed by an hour or two ago. There may just be the slightest dwindling chance that my former little brother is still alive. Of course...rather confident and foolhardy to come into the lair of the Silver Hand alone, particularly with the leader strutting about."

"You mean Panjor?" I demanded furiously, glaring into the shadowy depths of Arnbjorn's cell. "Where is he? Where is that man?"

Arnbjorn laughed coldly and huskily. "Not that leader, Huntress," he sneered. "No, he's far away from this place. Never came to the Rock, as far as I heard from my little prison, watching my pack mates being dragged off for execution one by one. Tempted you in, did he, Huntress? Of course, you always were one easy to be led into a trap."

Disbelief and horror fled through my mind. _What? How is this possible?_ "He's not here!?" I shouted, almost screaming.

"No, but old Krev the Skinner is," smirked Arnbjorn. "I think he's quite looking forward to shedding your own skin from your corpse, Aela. Maybe he'll use old Skjor as leverage." He glanced at Alyssa and growled, "As for you, sister, you'd best get out of here. I heard that Astrid still has need of you in the Sanctuary, and it won't do you any good for you to wind up dead in here."

Alyssa glared at him. "Whatever you two did to each other in the past, and whatever you say to her or to me, I'm not about to be dissuaded," she said to him, and her voice was commanding and firm. "I know of your resentment to the Companions, but they have been like another family to me, one which I have had not as long to be a part of as I have with you and the others. As well as that, Aela's a good friend." She glanced at me, and added, "And whatever's happened to Skjor, if he...if he really has been captured...then I'm not about to abandon a fellow moonborn, Circle-brother and general friend in his time of peril."

Arnbjorn snorted. "Hmph. Suit yourself, Listener. In the meantime, I've still got to get back. And I wouldn't mind if you could let Kathrgol and Maisha out, too. I've already lost Sinvik and Kira, and I'm not going to lose any others to my pack."

I frowned at her. "You're going to let them out, and they're going to tear us to pieces."

"Not her, at least," Arnbjorn growled. "But you, I can promise."

"In that case..." Alyssa's hand, which had been drifting to a pouch on her front, abruptly lowered. "I'm afraid you'll just have to wait in there for a very long time."

Arnbjorn growled impatiently. "Fine. We'll let her go, this once. Satisfied?"

"No. You'll leave her alone for the rest of the durations of your lives," Alyssa told him sharply. "Trust me, I'll be able to find out if you so much as lay a claw to her in the future. And as a Listener, I'm pretty sure that She wouldn't entirely be pleased at going against my will."

I strongly wanted to ask what on earth Alyssa was talking about. What this 'Listener' post was or meant. But Arnbjorn seemed to understand perfectly. He shook his shaggy head slightly and growled, "Rrr...fine. Fine. She won't be touched by the pack. Well, what's left of it anyway. Now may we leave?"

"Fine." Alyssa went to the pouch on her front and drew a shiny silver lockpick, crouched down, jammed it into the lock with her flatblade, and after a few seconds, the lock gave a confirming _click_ and the iron door swing open, and almost at once, the black hairy brute of Arnbjorn exploded from his containing unit and threw back his head in a triumphant snarl.

He threw me a dark bronze-eyed stare and growled, "A pity that Krev has you all to himself. I would've perfectly enjoyed doing his dirty work with you for once."

"Get out of here," I warned him. "Before I make you. I already made you leave once, and that was when I was unfairly outnumbered, too."

Arnbjorn glared at me. Across the room, I heard another door _click_ , and Maisha crept cautiously out, throwing worried glances over her shoulder and letting out fretful whimpers. I didn't let my gaze waver from Arnbjorn's until I heard the third door open, and Kathrgol exploded out of it, bounded around Maisha, and vanished back down the corridor, the way we had come. Maisha followed him.

"Good luck finding him," Arnbjorn growled mockingly. "Or, at least, what's left of him."

Then he turned and vanished down the tunnels after his two remaining pack mates, and Alyssa and I were alone in the chamber.

I couldn't stop the rising sense of fear, of terror, that was welling up inside of me, churning around wildly in my mind like a crazed storm, a whirlwind of emotions. Because Skjor couldn't be...he just _couldn't_ be...

"Aela, are you all right?" Alyssa asked quietly.

"No." My hands had balled into fists. "He wasn't here. He never was here. That _bastard_, that son of a _bitch_, never was here!"

Alyssa was quiet for a moment, before she asked softly, "Aela...who is Panjor?"

"He is the leader of the Silver Hand," I responded tightly. "He...he was training me to become one of his order. I knew him since I was six."

"And now you're a member of the Circle and a werewolf."

"Panjor wanted to bring me to the Silver Hand when he thought I was ready," I said. "He trained me into the best hunter possible. He disappeared after he said my training was complete. He didn't realize I'd leave Rorikstead so soon, much less join the Companions in Whiterun. The next time we met...I discovered the truth about him, and why he was my mentor, far too late."

Alyssa's voice was grim with understanding. "He was really a Silver Hand agent."

"And he proved where his loyalties lay when we next met." I lowered my eyes. "He had some of his Silver Hand secure me and an old member of the Circle, an Argonian named Samiith, and then he gave the command to fire."

Alyssa gently rested a hand on my shoulder. "Is this why you hunt him? For vengeance?"

"Yes. And because Hircine wills it to be so." My hand curled around my amulet, the amulet that I had not taken off from around my throat since the night I received it from Hircine's aspect. "I've been searching for him for many years. I thought...I thought he'd be here. I told him, long ago, when I was just a young girl, that I was impossible to trap. That I was clever and cunning to evade them. I guess I'm not. I guess I'm one to walk right into a trap."

I rested my hand on the hilt of my dagger. "But Panjor is a coward. He flees. He doesn't wish to face me. I knew I should have come alone. Oh, God, Skjor..."

He was caught. Captured. Or else injured. I didn't think Arnbjorn had been lying when he told me that Krev was here, that he heard a fight in the chambers that were to come. I drew my dagger in one sweeping motion. "Go back," I ordered Alyssa. "I have to do this alone. I've got to find Skjor before they kill him."

"You mean you dragged me all the way from Whiterun to Gallows Rock for me to just turn tail and leave?" Alyssa demanded angrily. She drew her own sword, a sleek black blade with a strange bird insignia on the hilt. I realized it was the same on her bow, only smaller. "No. Aela, I'm coming with you. You'd have to knock me senseless if you don't want me to follow you."

I hesitated, bad memories swamping before me. The people who followed me, who accompanied me on contracts...close friends, people I had known since my first days in Jorrvaskr...they were dead, because I had failed to look after them. Eiwen in Kagrenzel, Samiith in Fellglow, Endain, who I watched die before my very eyes by a woman who had too much anger in her heart...

What if I failed to protect Alyssa, too? What if she died, because I couldn't protect her?

"Hey," Alyssa interrupted. "I've come this far. I haven't even got a scratch. As well as that...well, I have a certain ability that I can use if I'm desperate."

"You mean your wolf form?"

"Something else entirely." Alyssa gripped her sword determinedly and said, "Let's go. Skjor and I may not particularly see eye to eye but he's a Shield-Brother nonetheless, and I'm not one to turn and leave people to their fates."

I was touched by her determination and steadfast loyalty. Yes, I realized, she was young to the Companions, having been in the halls for only a season-length, but her mind was that of an aged and experienced warrior, somebody who had seen and who had fought many times before. There was wisdom in her. Wisdom that came only to people like Kodlak.

She was right to come with me. She wouldn't die.

And I couldn't do this alone. Not if I had to face Krev again.

Or a lot of Silver Hand, for that matter.

"Thank you," I said to Alyssa. She seemed to understand.

_Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved..._

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it. They're hunting silver, Panjor's not here (that bloody bastard) and Aela and Alyssa need to find Skjor before *gulps*...****  
**

**I'll see you guys all when I've got the next chapter up 'n running. Please R&R as always, good readers!  
**


	56. Chapter 55 - A Wolf Departs

**A/N: And here it is. Chapter fifty-five. What many of you have been so tensely waiting for.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Five

My hand trembles as I write these words across the page. The candle burns low and my eyes water. Because the memory is overwhelming me.

Oh, Skjor...my dear love. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have forgotten the wise words of Ornith, so foolishly believed that you would not be part of the prophecy? I did not want to believe, young, imprudent and solitary as once I was, all those years ago.

If only I had confided in Alyssa before. Told her the prophecy the moment that I saw her, the moment that we became friends; Shield-Sisters. But I had not believed she would have understood. How very wrong I was. How ignorant I had been.

Through the years, all of my years of knowing, of realizing and learning...too haunted was I of the memories of the past, too consumed by my failures, that I failed to see into the future and learn from them, to learn that our work continually put us in danger. That was what we Companions lived for. That was what we fought and died for. That, and honour, because that was the sweetest thing to bathe our tongues. That was why we came to Jorrvaskr as we did. We were willing to die when the time for dying came.

I was not. I was a survivor, stubborn and foolish, praying that wherever I went, I would be protected. I did not expect to die again that night. I had believed, even expected, that Skjor and I would walk out of those ruins victorious.

But that victory was snatched away from me before I could even find him again. Panjor had never come to the ruins and Skjor was captured. And I was with only one other woman, a werewolf named Alyssa. I had to keep going for the sake of Skjor, and I would find nothing but my own nightmare at the end of it.

A nightmare I had not believed possible.

And a nightmare that, despite my pleas, my prayers, my hopes, my desperation to not believe that it would be this, came true.

But I cannot leave this part of the story out. I cannot leave it to rot in the dust when I pass from memory. It must be told. All of it. And so my grip tightens with determination around the quill, and I continue to write, carving the ink into those letters upon the parchment. My story must be told for their honour. My story must be heard, in all parts, to be understood. For that was the night I died but continued to live.

* * *

"Die, wolf!"

The Silver Hand swung his greatsword and I dodged the blow, though I could hear the swish of the weapon as it sliced through the air above my head, feel the lethal heat from the silver as it swept just over my skin. I straightened the moment the danger was passed and punched my dagger into his gut. His eyes widened with surprise and pain, and the greatsword slid out of his grip. I pulled my weapon out and kicked him to the floor, and threw a glance to my right to see Alyssa smoothly plant an arrow into the skull of a distant foe.

"More coming!" I warned her.

Alyssa looked down. Three Silver Hand warriors charged across the stone towards us. She slid the bow over her shoulders with more speed than I could have believed possible, and tugged her black sword from its sheath and charged to meet them head-on. I pulled out my own bow and readied an arrow. Guided by my amulet, they never missed my targets. Within moments, one of the Silver Hand warriors lay dead, an arrow through her throat and hip.

Alyssa was managing pretty well with the second Silver Hand warrior. She was talented with a sword as she was with a bow. Her black blade sang as it swished through the air, clanging continually against the silver of the Silver Hand's weapon. She moved with the speed of a diving eagle, with the grace and agility of a fish to water. Some of the moves looked distantly familiar, and for a moment I wondered if she and Ornith had met once.

And then suddenly she knocked the weapon clean out of the Silver Hand's grip, kneed him hard in the gut so he doubled over, and drove her sword into his back. Without slowing pace, she tugged it out and kicked the corpse aside, whirling around to face the third Silver Hand warrior, who was advancing rapidly with a silver-edged battle-axe swinging in his grasp, and a helm shadowing his face.

"Hey, ugly!" I called, making the Silver Hand spin around. I loosed my arrow, and swiftly the warrior brought it up to block it. Not fast enough. It dug into his shoulder and he let out a grunt of pain.

"Let's finish this!" Alyssa shouted, as she leapt towards him, blade poised. The warrior spun around and raised the hilt of his axe to Alyssa's blade. It knocked against the hilt and she fell back, at the same moment he moved forwards, the axe poised above his head and ready to bring it down. Alyssa frowned in determination and sidestepped nimbly to one side moments before the axe crashed down onto the ground.

"Yours or mine?" I called, as I fired another arrow, this time piercing the Silver Hand's leg. He gasped in pain and staggered, nearly losing his balance.

"Let's see who can deliver the final blow, shall we?" Alyssa inquired, as she swung her blade casually in her grasp. She lunged at the Silver Hand. But even though he had an arrow in his leg and shoulder, he was a still formidable warrior. He lifted his axe again, blocking the blow but shoved it roughly forward the moment Alyssa struck. She staggered backwards, almost losing her balance. The Silver Hand brought his axe swinging around. Alyssa's eyes widened and her mouth half-opened as though she were about to cry out—

And then my arrow sped through the air, and found its mark, straight into his chest.

The Silver Hand stiffened, the axe falling out from his grip. With a soft moan of pain, he took a few steps backwards, and curled one fist around the arrow embedded just beneath his heart. Slowly, he looked up towards the shooter. I stepped forward into the clearer light, another arrow readied.

But the next words I heard, I did not expect to hear.

"Sister..." he murmured. "I should have known..."

And then he crumpled over onto his back.

My eyes widened with disbelief. What...? No! It couldn't be...

I dropped the bow and the arrow and ran to the fallen Silver Hand's side, aware of Alyssa's confused gaze. I seized the Silver Hand's helmet and pulled it off, revealing to me a face which I thought I would never see again, aged and more lined than last time I had seen him...but undeniably I could recognize him.

"Ulfgar," I murmured.

His eyes flickered slightly open.

"Aela," he rasped.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why did you join them? How _could_ you join them?"

Ulfgar coughed, blood gathering at his lips.

"Because I was offered a place," he whispered huskily. "So I took the offer. Haven't looked back once."

"Lokir," I said to him. "Do you even know what happened to him?"

Ulfgar shrugged. "He's dead. And so am I. What, Aela? Did you kill him, too?"

"Funny, isn't it? How sadly ironic it is, that both my brothers die with arrows in their backs," I said. "Though the arrows that killed Lokir weren't mine. But you, brother...you wanted to live a life of stealing. You and Lokir promised each other that you would survive together."

Ulfgar coughed. "We...did. For a while," he whispered. "We tried out in the Thieves Guild. We managed for a month or two. But they, apparently, have rules. Rules! We stole something from another member's trunk and we were kicked out like beggars in the street. Oh, that was when we took our separate ways, sister. Lokir was useless, a whinging little lump of tears. Always running. Never standing to fight. Always asking me to protect him. But I wanted to protect those who could protect themselves."

"And so you abandoned him," I growled through gritted teeth. "Like you abandoned your family."

"Not before you," Ulfgar retorted huskily. "You were wanted in Rorikstead and you ran before you could be chained to a plough for the Heartfire harvest. Wanted to pursue your love of hunting and that overtook your love for your family. The town _loved_ you, Aela Huntress. And you took that love and you crushed it when you vanished in the dead of night, abandoning our mother."

"They could look after themselves," I snarled, and I heard the shadow of the wolf echoing in my voice. "As could I. My place wasn't meant to be in Rorikstead. I was chained each time I went back there. I broke those chains. It was best that I leave and find my place."

"Your place as a _werewolf_," sneered Ulfgar. "With those...Companions. With _him_."

I seized Ulfgar and gripped him tightly. His eyes widened slightly in fear. I daresay that my eyes had turned bronze as I whispered my next words, vibrating with fury. "My place is at Hircine's side. My family is the Companions. They have been more of a family than mine ever was. I have watched them die and I have grieved more than you could ever realize, Ulfgar of Rorikstead. And I have watched new ones come to join us and I have experienced joy and happiness and content. Hircine has guarded and guided me and you choose to follow that _traitor_, to believe that all werewolves are foul and evil. Now, brother, before _you_ pass into the shadows, you _will_ tell me where Skjor is."

Ulfgar's eyes betrayed his fear but his mouth remained firmly closed.

"_Tell me where Skjor is being held!_" I roared, and there was no mistaking the growl in my voice this time.

"The last chamber..." he whispered timidly. "Krev. He has him. Krev wants him dead. And what he wants, he gets. Aela, he'll want your skin, too. He'll want...that _amulet_ of the Daedra slung around your throat." His eyes flashed briefly to the wolf's head pendant and back to me. "None who enter the Rock ever leave alive again, Huntress. I'll be seeing you in hell soon enough..."

His eyes glazed over with his final words, and something between disgust and anger I released him and stood up, glaring down at his corpse.

"Aela..." Alyssa's voice was uncertain.

"Leave him," I ordered sharply. "He can rot in the chambers with the other Silver Hand."

Alyssa slowly nodded. "It's not that...it's that we have to hurry. There might...there might be a chance that he still lives."

I glanced towards her and nodded. "I won't let Krev take him from me."

"Nor will I."

As we left this chamber, heading towards the next, I glanced back towards where my brother lay, almost indistinguishable to the other corpses.

"Goodbye, brother," I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm and without regret. Then I turned and followed Alyssa into the shadows of the winding corridors.

* * *

I could hear voices. I could hear them whispering, heard the sound of scratching, the sound of sharpening blades. Hesitantly I crouched outside the door, my heart hammering in my chest and in my throat. My grip tightened around the handle of my bow, so tightly that it almost felt painful. I could smell there were at least ten Silver Hand in there. Cleanly outnumbering me and Alyssa five to one.

But there was no other choice. I knew that Skjor was in there. I had to help him.

"You ready?" I whispered to Alyssa.

She nodded, and half-raised her hand where the ring of Hircine was visible in the dim light. "Ready," she murmured.

"Are you sure that you'll be strong enough?" I asked her, suddenly anxious. "You almost died when you first turned."

"Now the beastblood is in me," Alyssa responded quietly. "And I am in it. I might as well use this trinket while I've got it, and I'll only use it if I really need it."

The wolf within me growled its hunger, nose twitching as it detected the scent of blood. I rested one hand against the face of the door, and gently eased it open.

It swung slowly forwards, revealing a dimly-lit room beyond. Mist and dust rose off from the ground. I realized that suddenly, there was silence, and all my senses were telling me that it was a trap. That they were waiting for me.

I wouldn't give Panjor the satisfaction, even if he wasn't here.

Somehow, Alyssa and I would spring this trap. Turn back the surprise.

And then I felt Alyssa's hand touch my arm, and I glanced towards her to hear her mutter, "I'll go first."

I shook my head, unwilling to let her walk into a death sentence.

"Trust me," Alyssa assured me quietly. "I'll be fine. I've fought giants and dragons, remember?"

Then she slipped from my side. I pulled out an arrow, unable to call her back. Because Alyssa strode through the corridor, and she stepped into the room.

She paused in the doorway, and I swore I heard her whisper something into the shadows. It sounded like a short incantation. But suddenly Alyssa's head snapped up, and her eyes roved over what appeared to be complete nothingness.

Then, in a clear and strong voice, though very slightly hoarsely, she said, "I know where you are, Silver Hand. You hide in ambush for us. You wait for the second to come through. But why not rise and fight like true warriors should? You can at least meet your end with dignity instead of cowering in the darkness like rats would hide from lions."

I heard a soft chuckle suddenly resonate from the room, and then a coldly familiar voice said, "Oh, go on, then. Grant the werewolf some light."

And light suddenly exploded from points in the room as several torches were lit, and Silver Hand swarmed from the shadows. Upon a platform of stone, a man stood, face grey with stubble but eyes bright with a sickening hunger. A bloody skinning knife was held in one hand, and an inane smile twisted his face.

That smile, however, faded.

"Where is the other one?" he snarled. "Where is the one we want?"

_Krev,_ I thought. That voice, hissing in my ear, moments before I died...oh, that was hard to forget. I pulled back my arrow and took aim.

Alyssa barely looked around as she responded. "Oh, she's here, but in the meantime, you'll have to deal with me."

"Yes...yes we will," murmured Krev. Then he snarled in a voice cold with hatred, "_Finish her._"

And at that moment, Alyssa threw herself to the ground, and I loosed my arrow. It shot through the air, as true as all the ones I had fired before. Krev's eyes widened and he tried to move out of the way, but it is impossible to completely avoid the arrow of a Huntress. It sank into his shoulder, and he cried out with pain.

"Now!" I shouted, as Alyssa drew her blade and straightened. I already had another arrow readied. The Silver Hand whirled around at the sound of my voice, but by then, I had already loosed another arrow through the throat of a Redguard woman. Alyssa pushed forward, sinking her blade deeply into the gut of the Silver Hand warrior nearest to her.

But the surprise of our attack quickly wore off. Three Silver Hand came between me and Alyssa. I threw my bow aside and drew my dagger as the first Silver Hand warrior charged.

I swept to the side and thrust my dagger into his hip as he passed me, and he growled with pain, dropping the weapon he wielded. I dodged a wild swing from a mace, which cracked into one of the nearby stone pillars just above a lit torch. Suddenly struck with inspiration, I pulled the torch free of its sconce and thrust both flames and blade forward at the Silver Hand. His eyes widened with panic and he tried to move out of the way, but failed to do so, and a moment later I could smell sizzling flesh as the flames licked hungrily over his heart. He screamed with pain so much that it sickened me. I pulled my dagger free from where I had buried it into his side and brought it quickly across his throat.

At that moment I felt something hit me hard over the head and stars winked across my vision. I stumbled and spun around, to see the third Silver Hand warrior charge at me, preparing to swing his sword and lowering his clenched fist. I raised my dagger and swiftly parried the sword, and swept the torch around. The Silver Hand leapt to the side, nearly crashing into the stone pillar in his eagerness to get away from the dancing and crackling flames.

"The Huntsman take you!" I snarled as I dodged a wild swing and punched the dagger with all my might into his gut. The Silver Hand warrior groaned with pain and slumped forward, and I roughly jerked my bloodsoaked dagger from him as he crumpled onto the floor.

A silver-headed arrow flew inches above my vision and clattered against the stone wall near my head. I spun around to see two archers standing at one side of the room. One was readying another arrow. The other released hers. Panic overtook me and I threw myself to the side, barely escaping the lethal silver head.

I heard a furious shout sound across the room and glanced over my shoulder to see Alyssa yanking her black blade from a Nordic warrior. Blood flew across the room, splattering against the stones. She spun around and raised her blade just in time to ward off a stunning blow from a greatsword. The force behind it was enough to make Alyssa stagger. Another Silver Hand woman thrust her silver sword forward. Alyssa swept her blade low and blocked it, but the woman, with her free hand, brought her fist flying up, straight into Alyssa's chin, knocking her backwards.

I gripped my dagger and prepared to help her, but at the last moment, the wolf howled a warning in my ears and on instinct alone I swept to the side as two arrows zipped past me. Both would have pierced me if not for my inner wolf instincts. I turned my attention to the archers. My eyes flashed to my bow, which lay only a couple of metres away from me. I dropped the dagger into its sheath and dived towards it.

As I snatched it up, I heard Alyssa suddenly cry out. I spun around to see her suddenly kicked roughly in the chest by the Silver Hand woman, and knocked against a pillar. Almost at once the woman was on her, thrusting the hilt of her weapon up against Alyssa's throat. Her dark eyes widened in panic as she struggled to breathe.

I made a split-second decision. I yanked an arrow from my quiver and let it fly at the Silver Hand woman. It burrowed into her unprotected side, and she let out a gasp of pain, before her grip slackened on the weapon that held Alyssa in place, and fell sideways, dead. Alyssa fell forward with a gasp, massaging her throat. And then I felt agony pierce me as an arrow thudded into my chest, an inch or two above my heart. Pain like flame scorched through me and the wolf howled in protest, and I staggered backwards, one hand desperately curling around the body of the arrow. Summoning all my strength, I pulled it out.

The pain of the silver continued to throb in me. My left arm grew numb with it, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fire with the bow. I pulled my dagger from my grasp and turned my attention back to the archers. They would have to be taken care of. I leapt to one side as the second arrow shot into place where I formerly had been, taking cover behind another pillar and pressing my back to the cool stone, and gritting my teeth against the pain of the traces of silver as it burned my beastblood.

After a moment, I straightened, and looked cautiously around the edge of the pillar. I jerked my head back as two arrows flew straight past me, thudding against the distant wall, before I broke from cover and sprinted straight towards the archers. They realized their mistake as they hastily readied their arrows, but by then I was already on top of them. With a roar of fury, I thrust my dagger across the throat of the nearest archer, and kicked out at the other, knocking him against the corner of the stone platform Krev had stood on.

The remaining archer pulled out a sword, but he proved to have little resistance as I cut my dagger across his arm, forcing him to drop his weapon as he howled with pain. I drove my blade up to the hilt into his chest and tugged it out just as swiftly as it had gone in, and threw him down to the ground, and spun around, in time to see Alyssa pin the Silver Hand woman down on the ground, smoothly adjust her grip on her sword, and plunge it down, abruptly ending the Silver Hand's life. The other one lay dying in one corner of the room.

And then...just like that...

Silence.

I straightened. I was aware that my arms and my dagger were sticky with blood. I was also aware that the burning feeling like flame did not leave me, and that my arm still hurt, but I sensed that the silver traces were losing their strength and would not kill me. I looked around, frowning slightly. Where was Krev?

And then he suddenly appeared above me on the platform, and he dropped my bloodied arrow onto the ground. Krev's eyes were alight with fear but also with malice.

"Whatever you do now, mutts, you've failed," he rasped, and he broke into a bout of cruel laughter. "Oh, the Silver Hand may be dead here, but there are countless others, scattered all throughout Skyrim. We've still got many other leaders of the Silver Hand."

Alyssa slowly approached the platform. "Who are they?" she demanded, in a voice that was both deep and menacing, and thrummed with a haunting power.

Krev didn't answer to the question. "It matters not now," he growled. "The Huntress isn't to leave alive."

"And you think you can kill me, alone, and outnumbered?" I snarled, gripping my dagger and desiring nothing more than to thrust it into his throat. "Who do you think you are? Servant of Sheogorath?"

"Oh, but Huntress, I think you are already dead," smiled Krev. "Because you're too late. We don't take prisoners. We don't let _any_ survive."

And that was when the end began.

"What are you saying?" I asked, though my voice had lost its strength.

Krev began to laugh. "You're too late, Aela," he said. "He's dead. Your beloved, gone, as are so many others of your vile kin. Of course Panjor wanted to bring you here, entice you to bring your friend with you. The Silver Hand leader has ways of destroying werewolves that you can't imagine..."

Silence.

Silence rang in the room. In my mind. A blank shock began to overwhelm me. A blinding shock, realization at my own stupidity...at my own ignorance. And I said, my voice very faint, "No. He's not dead."

Krev chuckled. "You're dead, Huntress. You're dead."

And that was when I ran.

I ran up those flight of steps onto the platform.

I ran right at Krev.

Without hesitation and without second thought, I plunged that dagger straight into his heart.

He didn't even try to fight back.

He continued to laugh.

Laugh as his blood stained my hands.

Laugh right until he died.

And then there was silence in the wake of his laughter. The silence grew, threatening to overwhelm me. Krev crumpled onto the floor, but that didn't seem to make any sound, because everything was closing in around me. Everything was threatening to destroy me.

I was dead.

I _had_ to be dead.

Because it was just too cruel to see what I next saw. What I saw beyond Krev's body. A body I thought I would never see. A body that, hours ago, had embraced me. Had whispered my name. Had loved me, as I had loved him.

I took a few steps forward, my dagger sliding from my grip. Every movement took an age. But I continued to move. Moved towards that body, lying sprawled over the ground. And I sank to his side, in numb disbelief, not wanting to believe...

I had to be dead. Because nothing so cruel could have happened to me in life.

No...

_No..._

"Skjor," I choked. "Skjor...please..."

But he could not hear me. Who could? I could not even hear myself. All I could do was see. See the blankness in his eye as it stared up at the ceiling, the greyness of his face, the gash that tore across his chest. Ripping through his wolf armour, an ugly red streak of crimson. Where blood still seeped, as though weeping. Where it was cooling, where _he_ was cooling...where I crouched beside him, resting one hand over his heart, and dimly realizing that it was not moving.

He was dead.

And I was, too.

I was dead.

I was destroyed.

_No..._

And that realization became powerful enough to overwhelm me. I couldn't move. My body froze as though that, too, were in death. All I could do was stare and stare at the body of the man who once had been Skjor. Who once had been my lover. Who had promised never to leave my side, who had guided, guarded and protected me against everything that stood between us. And I had protected him. We had guarded each other, watched each other's backs, stared and laughed in the faces of our enemies as we cut them down...the nights where we hunted as wolves, wild and feral beasts of the wilderness, pounding across the ground as swiftly as anything...an unstoppable force of nature. Of Hircine.

And then I heard a voice speak my name. It came from a thousand, a million miles away, and yet I heard it. It took all the effort in the world to return long enough to hear Alyssa say softly to me, "I...I am sorry. I am so sorry for what..."

"It's okay," I whispered. My voice was very much unlike my own. Had I really died? Had I dropped that dagger or had I thrust it through my own heart instead? Was she apologizing to me for not stopping me as I bled out? But in a daze I looked at myself and no, my heart was intact. It was still bloody intact. Why couldn't it have been pierced?

"Aela...I found this on that...that _bastard's_ body," Alyssa was saying. A note appeared in front of my eyes.

Numbly I took it and folded it open. For a moment, I couldn't make out what it said. Everything didn't seem to make sense anymore. And then I realized that it was a letter from Panjor.

Rage brought me crashing down to earth. Rage sharpened my senses at that hated name. And I found myself reading that letter, and hearing the wolf within me bark and scream in the echo of my fury.

_Krev,_

_Aela is coming to Gallows Rock. She's too easily manipulated not to. Kill any of her friends who choose to accompany her, though I daresay she will come alone. However, the more the better. When you have her amulet, meet Riddor at Orotheim. You'll receive instructions to my current stations there._

_Beware, Krev. Aela is looked most favourably upon by our enemy Hircine. Make sure you decapitate her when you kill her. Even a Daedric Prince won't be able to replace a missing head._

_-P_

For a moment, all I did was continue to stare. And then, I handed the letter back to Alyssa. It took all of my strength to move at all.

"Go," I whispered. "Go to Orotheim. Make those Silver Hand bastards pay. Find out their plans. Find out Panjor's location. Find out anything you can about them. Return to Jorrvaskr when you're done. And make them pay. Every single one."

Alyssa's voice sounded earnest enough when she responded. "I will, Aela. I promise. But...but what about you?"

"I'll be..." I couldn't say the words, because that would be a lie. "I'll meet you back in Jorrvaskr. I'll find you back there. If I'm not back, wait for me. I need some time alone."

And then I heard her footsteps, growing distant, as she departed.

And then I was alone.

Alone in this world that was just too cruel.

And the silence that pressed down on me felt all the colder.

I slowly leaned forward and kissed Skjor's cold lips and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Skjor...I'm so sorry..."

In the shadows of the Gallows Rock where I had died a second time, I wept. Wept that I was so alone and that everything was being destroyed around me. Destroyed because I had placed my heart in another man, and been so foolish and naïve to the world's true colours. Destroyed because I had failed Skjor when I had known if he had left my side, he would never return to it. Destroyed as the prophecy, all those years ago I had received, rang all the clearer in my mind. But no rage came. All I felt was a hollow grief. All I was aware of was the hot tears that trickled down my face.

I no longer felt anything. Nothing would harm me ever again. Nothing could. For no pain could compare to that of a loved one being snatched from me. A man I truly had loved, who had been beside me for countless years, who had fought and bled at my side. Who I would never be beside again.

I no longer was aware of who I was. Where I was. What I was doing here. And the darkness that followed, I succumbed to it gladly, glad to be rid of this wretched world around me. Praying that I would never wake again.

_Oh, Gods, Skjor..._


	57. Chapter 56 - Striking the Heart

**A/N: It is finally here! I am so so so sorry that this has taken forever to do. Writer's block, returning to school and a bunch of other stuff in my life have caused this chapter to be MAJORLY DELAYED. For that, I really sincerely apologize and thank you endless amounts of time for your patience and devotion to The Huntress, loyal followers.**

**So this went completely off-topic to what I originally planned it out to be...I kind of just let my writing flow there. But I like it. Hopefully, you will, too.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six

When I had found that note in Dustman's Cairn, the note written by Panjor's hand, the note telling me where he supposedly was, and telling me to come and find him...daring me to come and find him...I thought that it would all soon be over. That soon, my task to Hircine would be complete. That I would be free. That I would be able to retire from being a Companion, be with Skjor forever. We would move away from the hardships of Skyrim, far away, make a home in the beauty of Cyrodiil or Hammerfell, somewhere warm and bright and happy, away from the troubles and the hardships and the dark memories of home.

We would sit in the sun, and we'd bask in the warmth like adders, letting out the wolves on clear nights and racing across windswept plains together, hunting and howling to the skies. That we'd one day hang up our weapons, polish and sharpen them and test their strength every so often to keep them in check, just in case...but we'd both know that 'just in case' would never happen, because we would be together, and we would be as free as Hircine promised us to be.

We'd spend the end of our days in peace, and never have to die fighting for our lives. We'd let the scars of the past fade away with time. We'd experience content and happiness and joy together. We would have had children. Maybe they would be pureborn wolves, or maybe they would be completely unaffected by our lycanthropy. But we'd watch them grow up and we'd teach them how to laugh and how to hunt, how to fight and how to show pity, tell them stories and teach them legends. We'd watch them grow into young men and women who would one day leave home, one day find love, one day have children of their own.

All those dreams, I thought continuously about, ever since our lips met during that bright and beautiful New Life Festival, in the secluded shadows of the Underforge. I had believed, so desperately, so hopefully, that all my dreams would one day become reality. They should have become reality. I thought that they would, I really thought so, and my conviction shouldered all other more terrible and darker possibilities from my mind and made me blind to the true nature of the world, a nature I thought I understood, a nature I thought I was a part of, a nature that I thought I had tamed.

Oh, how wrong I was. How many times I'd admitted this, I had lost count.

I may have become a Huntress, but I still had many things to learn about the world. But the grief, at the moment, was enough for me to try and handle. At least, I thought it was enough. Because I couldn't stop thinking about that prophecy. Some terrible, dark conviction within me told me that I had already known that Skjor was my beloved, that he was doomed to be snatched away by the Silver Hand, but I tried so hard to shoulder this awful feeling aside. I couldn't let myself succumb to such outrageous thoughts...could I?

I felt like I barely knew who I was anymore.

Who was this woman who stood in my place, bearing three marks of green, three marks that stood for the three wolves who ambushed her when she was a naïve sixteen-year-old in the wilds around Rorikstead all those years ago? Marks of green that were scars of shame upon her face, marks of Panjor's betrayal many times over. Killing Taija. Killing Skjor. Who else would he snatch from this woman? What would he do to earn that third slash that marred her face?

Who was this woman who had such talent with a bow, such a keen love for hunting, such a passion to be within the great and open wilderness, to follow the tiniest markings and tracks of an animal with an almost careless ease? Who was this woman who owed everything to the man who had been as close as family to her, who once had saved her life from the creatures she was now, only to condemn her to die when she rebelled against him?

Who was this woman, a Companion, his darkest enemy, a daughter of a Daedric Prince, a child of the plains and the Hunt? Who was this woman, now one of His Hounds, forever and eternally bound to the Hunting Grounds when death would come in time? Who was this woman who had watched friends leave her, watched friends die, watched their echoes walk through the halls of Jorrvaskr as they did now?

Who was this woman?

Who was I?

Skjor told me, over and over, who I was. I was a proud, fierce huntress, a devout follower of the great Hircine, a personal champion chosen long ago since we first faced that mighty, majestic black stag in the middle of the plains. He was the Companion who I came to know best, who had been my oldest friend since I was a young woman, who left me and returned to me unexpectedly and suddenly. The Companion who welcomed me into Jorrvaskr, who spoke of me to the Circle upon my initiaton.

He was the man who reminded me each day why I stayed with the Companions, why I fought, why I bled for them. He was a man of honour, of dedication, of steadfast loyalty and good humour and ferocity when faced with those who sought him harm. He was a man who stole my heart, a heart which I permitted him to keep, because he had mended it when it had been broken, and I knew that it would break when it was returned to me.

He was a man who was gone.

It took all my willpower to return to Whiterun, to part from his body for the last time, to depart the empty, silent halls of Gallows Rock without looking back. Past the corpses of the Silver Hand. Past the corpse of my traitorous brother. Leaving behind, in that solemn little room, several dead Silver Hand, Krev the Skinner, and Skjor, who would remain there until time claimed him for itself and he turned to dust.

I don't remember the journey back to the city. What I did remember was entering the city gates. It was day by then. I wasn't tired. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't anything. I approached Jorrvaskr without speaking to the townspeople who immediately sensed something was wrong, but didn't ask me of it. I heard the clashing and clanging of swords echo distantly from behind Jorrvaskr but I didn't go to observe the brawl.

I could remember Skjor teaching Farkas how to wield his greatsword. Remember how Farkas had struck the greater, older man down. Remember how Skjor sparred with all his Shield-Siblings, accepting defeat with good grace and gloating good-naturedly when he emerged victorious...

I stepped into the shadow of Jorrvaskr to find that it was quite deserted, save for Vignar, who was sitting and warming himself near the warm flames, and Tilma, who was quietly sweeping the dusty floorboards on the other side of the room.

As the doors clanged shut behind me, Vignar glanced up.

"Ah. You're back, Huntress," he commented. "So how was last night? Kodlak thought you and Skjor had gone off to Gallows Rock with what's-her-name, Alyssa."

Then he fell silent, perhaps noticing the expression on my face. And it didn't take him long, despite his steadily increasing age, to make the connection. I had gone with three to the Rock. And I had returned alone. Alyssa, I hoped, was alive and fighting, at Orotheim and bringing the fight to the bastard murderers. But Skjor...

"He's dead," I said, my voice scarcely audible.

There was silence. It pounded in my ears. I thought I was going to faint. The world seemed to be closing in on me and my throat closed up and burned as hot as flame. I stared at nothingness. The impact of my words rung in my mind. _He's dead. He's dead. He's never coming back._

The words whispered themselves over and over in me, sounding like an endless, cruel, taunting chant.

Then I saw Vignar slowly approach, and rest an old, weathered hand on my shoulder.

I expected him to try and console me. To tell me that everything would be all right. That I would be safe. Those had been the words Kodlak had told me when I returned, grief-stricken, from Kagrenzel, bearing the terrible news of Eiwen's fate.

But instead, Vignar said gently, "I know that you would have done all you could, Huntress. But he's in a better place now. Sovngarde. He'll be revered in the Halls forever. One day, Aela, you will join him."

Sovngarde? I recollected that Vignar was not the Gray-Mane who knew of our beastblood.

But his words did give me some consolidation. Some hope. The Hunting Grounds. Yes, Skjor would be there. He might already be hunting at Hircine's side.

But he had promised. He had _promised_ that we would always hunt together. We would avenge Taija and Samiith together. He didn't tell me that he would leave me to face hunting Panjor alone.

For once, for once, I truly needed him, and he was not there.

He would be hunting. Perhaps he would have even forgotten about me already. Did spirits forget about the lives they lived, the people they had loved? No. Skjor would never forget about me. I would never forget about him. Would I?

No. I wouldn't. I'd make sure of that.

Those Silver Hand...Panjor...they were all going to pay. In blood.

"Where's Alyssa?" Vignar asked. "She's not...?"

I shook my head. "No. She's coming back later."

"Where is she now?" Vignar asked, almost suspiciously.

"Out."

There was a tense pause.

And then I said, "When she comes back, tell her to see me. I'll be in my room. I need to be alone."

"I understand," Vignar said. "But...what of Skjor? You must tell Kodlak."

"Thank you, Vignar. I will."

But I didn't look forward to telling the old man that his deputy was dead.

* * *

I softly knocked on the closed doors to Kodlak's quarters, and heard him give permission for me to enter. I did so, quietly, keeping my eyes lowered like a scolded child, to hide my emotions from my Harbinger. The door clicked shut just behind me, and out of habit I turned the key in the lock.

As I turned back towards Kodlak, I saw that his ancient face was turned towards a large, dusty tome that rested on his lap. He was peering at the miniscule, slanted writing that etched itself slowly across the page. He looked up as I drew near and sat down opposite him, and he nodded.

"Your mission was successful, I hope?"

My throat tightened. I looked away sharply. How could I explain?

The book snapped shut. A small cloud of dust escaped the pages. With a soft grunt of effort, Kodlak put the book on the top of the table, and then turned more attentively towards me, every ounce of his attention now focused entirely on the conversation.

"Something is not right," Kodlak said.

I shook my head and turned to face my Harbinger completely, and fighting to keep my voice steady, I said, "Skjor is dead."

The silence that followed between us was one of the most awful. The words sank into the both of us; for me, attempting to realize the truth yet again. And for Kodlak, the shock. Slowly, his silver eyes turned to the ground and he rested a hand to his brow, pressing the fingers into his eyes, and letting out a sigh that expressed sorrow.

"Who?" he asked.

"The Silver Hand."

Kodlak looked up and his brow creased. "They overwhelmed you?"

"Sk-Skjor...he went..." I broke off, trying desperately how to phrase this. Skjor...Skjor had gone to scout ahead. Yes. I had remained behind to tend to Alyssa, to make sure that she awoke, that she didn't just open her eyes and discover that she was alone, with enemies all around her.

"Skjor went to scout ahead. Alyssa struggled with the beastblood and was unconscious for a long time. I remained behind to watch over her. He...insisted. He wanted to go ahead to scout. But...the Silver Hand overwhelmed him. He was killed before I could reach him, and dead when...when I found him."

My eyes burned and shame swept through me. Why had I been so stupid to let him go alone? Why had I been so ignorant of the prophecy? The prophecy I had received almost two decades ago?

There was a long pause, as Kodlak slowly soaked in the news. Then he said softly, "Aela...I'm sorry."

"For what, Harbinger?" I realized my voice had gone very husky and I quickly fell silent, ashamed of letting my emotions run away with me.

"For...for your loss." Kodlak sighed, deeply troubled. "I know that you and Skjor were...were good friends."

"We were more than that, Kodlak."

The Harbinger looked surprised for a moment, before he lowered his eyes.

"I see," he murmured.

It made me realize that not once in our many years of courtship had we ever let Kodlak know of our love for one another. He had been unconscious when Skjor had admitted it in the Underforge...and all other times had been on our own. Apart from Alyssa intruding on one of our last moments alone together bringing me my shield. I was still partially annoyed with her about that.

I decided that I should tell him—not just about me and Skjor, but also of the prophecy. Kodlak had had a Dream, and long ago I had received my destiny. Kodlak had confided in me, and with a dull feeling I realized that besides the Harbinger, I was now the senior member of the Circle, made up of four. It made me think back to the time when we had lost so many Circle members in the single year between Eiwen's death and Ornith's return with his niece and nephew.

"We...were close," I began hesitantly. "Skjor and I. We began as good friends. But we quickly became lovers. When Skjor protected me from Orgmund in the Underforge, you were unconscious at the time, but he told me that he loved me. Our love for one another only grew over the passing years. And...well, I...we had plans, when my task to Hircine was complete."

"Plans?" echoed Kodlak.

"We wanted to leave," I blurted out. "We wanted to leave the Companions and try and make a new life for ourselves in another land. To just relax and have a family, to spend our last days in peace. We've been Companions for a long time, and we thought that when Panjor was dead we'd have a chance to...just...let go, of everything; our responsibilities, the thoughts of waking up and having to fight..." I lowered my head. "Everything."

Kodlak was quiet, before he murmured, "I never realized..."

"It wasn't for you to realize, Harbinger," I said. "We were fools, thinking that we'd be safe, that hunting the Silver Hand would be as easy as tracking a deer in the wilderness. And I...I am much to blame. Harbinger...deep within me, I sensed that Skjor was...was the part in my prophecy, my beloved that would be stolen from me. And I knew...for twenty years, I knew."

Kodlak's expression changed at once with my words. "What do you mean, a prophecy?"

"Olava...when Eorlund asked me to go to her, ask her what the future would bring...she told me what my future would be, too," I said. I could still remember the scene, clear as though it had happened yesterday. I could still remember every single word in that prophecy. Every single one. And these words now haunted my mind.

"That was...girl, that was two decades ago," breathed Kodlak, shocked. "Why...why didn't you tell us?"

"I felt...the prophecy was meant to be with myself alone," I replied. "I didn't want to tell the others. It might have changed...a lot of things. And it was difficult enough, first learning when I was barely twenty-one that you were werewolves, after all. And you never told _me_ about it beforehand."

"You fully understand why we couldn't have told you beforehand," frowned Kodlak. "Too much was at stake."

"Maybe my prophecy was too much at stake at the time...because I barely understood it," I responded.

Silence.

Then: "I suppose I have had my fair share of mistrust and uncertainty," Kodlak said. "But perhaps these tensions could pass. If your heart permits it, please...elaborate upon your prophecy."

The time for silence of my destiny was over. Kodlak should know now.

So I spoke of my prophecy to the old man. "_I see a great huntress, standing upon the pinnacle. She is alone, a child of the true hunters of this world, a daughter of the moon, promised to the great huntsman._"

I hesitated. "At...at the time, I didn't know what she meant by the great huntsman..."

"Hircine," mused Kodlak. "Is that all?"

"No. It's only the start._ Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch._"

Kodlak scowled. "Silver," he said bitterly.

I nodded. "Silver. I should have known, the moment I became a werewolf, what it meant." My voice shaking a little now, I murmured the next part. "_Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved._"

Kodlak looked sombre. "We now know what this part of the prophecy meant."

"I...I didn't heed the warnings. Now he is gone." _But not forever. Not for good. One day I will see him again...we will just never be what we wanted to truly be._ Forcing back tears, for now was not the time, nor was it the place, I went on. "_Beware the anger that follows, for it will bring naught but grief in the end._"

"Now what could old Olava have meant by that?" Kodlak asked.

I shook my head. "I...I don't know."

"Are you angry, Huntress?"

I hesitated. How could I be angry? All I could feel was grief, and shame, and misery. There was no room for anger. Was there?

"Not now, at least," I muttered. I decided not to tell Kodlak exactly what Alyssa was doing, if he happened to ask. Softly, I recited the last part of the prophecy. "_In the fires of sorrow the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it._"

Kodlak was silent. Evidently, he had nothing to say.

"I...thought that it had come and gone," I admitted. "Do you...do you remember, last year...Uthgerd?"

Kodlak scowled. The name apparently reopened old wounds. It did for me. Already I could see Uthgerd and her fury, her wild anger and her burning heart's fire, lost in the heat of battle that she only broke through the trance of when she finally saw Endain lying upon the ground, his lifeblood slowly pooling out over the cobblestones.

"What about her?" he asked, jolting me abruptly back into reality.

"She called herself Unbroken. And...Endain was burned in the Underforge. His ashes mingled with the coal. The fires of sorrow..."

Kodlak's eyes cleared as he began to make the connections. "You thought that somehow, Uthgerd was a part of your prophecy?"

"For a moment, I did, yes. But something told me that it had nothing to do with Uthgerd for that matter. It was just...coincidence, I guess."

"Yes. Coincidence is a fickle thing nowadays. But it's a good thing that Uthgerd no longer resides here in Whiterun. The city, I think, is a little calmer with such an aggressive woman like her gone."

"I did notice that she had left...not too long ago, either. Do you know where she went?"

"All that I know is that Uthgerd met the Dragonborn late one night in The Bannered Mare and they had a fast and furious blow at one another. Uthgerd was defeated and the Dragonborn obviously had some idea of her talents being put to better use than an overaggressive mercenary. They left Whiterun that dawn and disappeared."

"Damn. Wish I could've seen her face being smashed into the cobblestone by the Dragonborn."

"Farkas saw it, and I believe that Alyssa did, as well..." Kodlak suddenly looked past me, as though realizing that three had set out, yet only one had returned. "Where is the young cub, by the way?"

I swallowed but kept my voice steady as I responded, "Out. She...had another commitment."

Kodlak let out a weary sigh. "Again? The girl has no end to her commitments. Then again, hardly a surprise..."

"Surprise what?"

"Remember what I told you about Alyssa?"

I fell morosely silent.

"She will tell you in time," Kodlak assured me. "I am glad that she is safe, at least, and that the Silver Hand have not stopped her. She is, after all, a very busy woman."

"Sometimes, I wonder how long it'll take for me to win her trust enough for her to tell me what's so important and secretive about the jobs she does," I said.

"She'll tell you, in time," Kodlak promised.

He leaned across the table and gently placed one hand over my own, and earnestly he said, "And you will heal, Huntress. I can sense your pain. But please...heed your prophecy. You must not let rage cloud you, should it come."

Rage. Such a strange word. A word that brings the emotion forward. I realized why I was angry. I realized why I was furious, mad with grief and drunk for revenge.

"He was never there, Kodlak. Panjor tricked me. I didn't even kill him. I didn't even fulfill my task."

The anger trembled in my voice, as though it were afraid of me. Within, my wolf snarled, dark fur bristling in my rage. And I knew that my eyes blazed with the rage. I looked up towards my Harbinger and I said stiffly, "I will not stop searching for him, Harbinger. He will die. He will die, by my hand. He will pay for the murders of our Circle-siblings. This, I swear."

Taija...Samiith...Skjor. How many more would fall to the hands of the man who had betrayed me and torn my heart to pieces?

Kodlak lowered his eyes.

"I won't attempt to stop you in your endeavors, Huntress," he said eventually. "But I will give you advice. Whether you listen or not is up to you. But the rage that follows brings only grief at the end. It will leave you broken, Huntress, when it is spent, when it has ended. Honour us by delivering the fight to the Silver Hand but do not take more lives than is necessary."

"I'll take as many as I need to take to get to Panjor," I growled. The wolf definitely edged my words this time, declaring the challenge openly to Kodlak.

Kodlak looked weary. "I sensed you would think this way, girl," he murmured. "I cannot stop you, even if I would try to. You have always been persistent, Huntress, from the moment that I first saw you."

He leaned back, contemplating me a little more carefully. "How much you have changed," he said eventually. "From that young girl in Rorikstead, to the woman who sits before me. You have grown up well, Aela. You have grown older, and you have grown stronger. I hope that you have also grown wiser."

I was about to respond, tell him that yes, I had grown wiser. I had become cleverer in the ways of the hunt. I had become more skillful when eradicating my foes. I had become fearless. I bore many scars because of my service to the Companions. My eyes darted briefly to my right arm. The marks of the wolf's teeth were still visible upon my flesh, though they were slightly more stretched now. I had grown a little since the terrifying and near-fatal encounter.

But then I hesitated. Had I truly grown wiser?

And I realized...I had barely become wise enough to face Panjor.

I knew that until I possessed the same cunning that those wolves in the fields of Whiterun had, I could not face Panjor. He was too clever, too elusive.

I still had much to learn in the ways of my wilder brothers. I was not yet wise. Wise in the ways of the pack.

But I would be. One day, I would be. Hircine, all these years, had known this, and had set me this task not to test my loyalty to him, but to train me to become his ultimate champion. And that task was to find and eliminate the man who had torn my heart to pieces, but who had given me the skills needed to become a devout follower of my Father. Hunting Panjor would give me the cunning of the wolf; the last fragment of my wit, broken with Panjor's betrayal to me, slowly mended with Skjor's companionship and loyalty to me, and begun when the wolves first lured me.

Greed no longer tempted me out to a carcass.

Desire drove me forward into finding and ending the life of Panjor.

Earning the cunning of the wolf, and completing myself. Completing my inner beast, who desired only to be released and to be free.

One day, I told myself. One day, we would be free, together. And one day, we would find Skjor again. We'd find all our fallen moonborns in the blissful Hunting Grounds. We'd hunt together, and forever, for though death may part us, it would reunite us.

The bond between me and Skjor may have been broken mortally, and depriving us of the peaceful life that we would have shared in the end of this mundane life, but it linked us forever. I now had to wait to find the other end.

I had grown older. I _had_ grown wiser, certainly, to some level. Age was affecting my mind. Encouraging me to contemplate every move. To think the way the wolf did. The wolf I had been, for so many years, who influenced my movements and triumphs and successes, who stalked my heart as Skjor had done for over a decade.

I looked back up at Kodlak. "Yes," I said. "I have grown wiser. But not enough to find Panjor. Not yet. But when the day comes, when I now that I possess the last element that I need to find and kill that man, then I will do it, without hesitation, without mercy."

Kodlak was silent. He watched me. Then he gave me permission to leave and I did so.

But the rage that I had felt moments before festered in my blood. In my room, I heard the beast snarl, whispering pure fury. Fury which I sensed was not going to die so easily. Fury which I decided to leave to fester.

I wasn't going to be content with just _some_ lives. Panjor would pay in blood. And not just his own.

Savagely, I smiled. And I knew that my teeth had already become a little sharper.

Alyssa and I had a lot of work to do.

* * *

**A/N: There we go. End of chapter fifty-six. I will make a serious attempt to get these updates up online weekly. Homework is going crazy.**

**Personally, I cannot wait until very-soon-to-come chapter fifty-eight. Thieves Guild fans, you might enjoy that chapter! However, there is a chapter fifty-seven in between that. In that time, I introduce a very interesting character who plays a fairly significant role in 'Eagle Wings, Dragon Hearts' and who may intrigue several people. In that chapter, I decide to take the history of the wolf a little more fictionally, and the war between the Silver Hand and the Companions truly begins in earnest. Now that I am motivated, I might even get it done this weekend...ah, one can hope...**

**Also, thank you skyflower51 who has continually (and nearly daily) encouraged me to get this chapter online. I am motivated to finish this story and I will do so! Followers of The Broken Prophecy, I promise you that I will try to update this weekend!**


	58. Chapter 57 - Another Priority

**A/N: Hello, it's me again! I was beginning to wonder if you were there. Only one person reviewed the last chapter...helloooo? If you're there please review! I'm getting lonely...**

**OK, enough of that. In this chapter, we discover an OC but one I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Seven

And so we hunted, and began the hidden war.

I found out, piece by piece, locations of Silver Hand dens. Scattered across the entirety of Skyrim. Alyssa returned, bearing no news of where Panjor had gone, but by then I had decided to eradicate all who stood in our way. Panjor could not hide forever. Block off all the exits to a fox's burrow and he would only have one place to come out. Another piece of advice from my old mentor, now usefully being turned against him.

Alyssa was steadfast and loyal. She was angry that Skjor had been so mercilessly killed, as was I.

So we hunted together.

Alyssa was powerful in the ways of the wolf. For over half a month, we worked in secret, in the shadows of the Underforge. I sent Alyssa to every Silver Hand den I could think of. I hired all people to search for them. Mercenaries in Whiterun, scholars from beyond the Hold, rumours of slain werewolf sites. I spent all the gold I had accumulated over the twenty years of service to Jorrvaskr, no longer caring for the wealth, intent on finding my enemies and bringing them down.

I was furious. Enraged. Drunk on revenge. I savagely enjoyed it, though I never let it show through nearly as much as it was tearing me up inside. In my anger, I remembered Skjor in a different way. I didn't spend many hours grieving in my room, barely speaking, barely showing my face. The time of mourning has passed and the time for action has taken its place.

I paid heed to the prophecy. I knew that the next part was unfolding. Some inner part of me told me over and over that by destroying the Silver Hand, there would be no grief. By finding Panjor, the grief would be over. And I would break this prophecy's chain. No more, I told myself. No more would die. Not if I could help it.

When I didn't hear about a Silver Hand burrow for a long time I grew anxious and I would go out, not to hunt, but to search. Sometimes, I would stay away from Jorrvaskr for days at a time. I would hunt through the Holds, striding in the form of the wolf, daring the Silver Hand to attack me. I would have enjoyed the pleasure of tearing them limb from limb.

I might have become feral. I might have succumbed completely to the wolf, given my senses to Hircine and let me serve him through all the hours of the day and all days of the passing weeks. But I would remember my old friends who had died to the Silver Hand and it would keep me rooted firmly on the ground.

I knew that the Silver Hand were starting to grow worried. Delay in news of those slayers also meant that they were growing more cautious, and perhaps frightened. Would Panjor feel the same fear? Many times I sensed that Alyssa would be killed.

But suddenly her heart was set upon the completion of these tasks. She never stayed away longer than she promised us. She never vanished off to another Hold in the blink of an eye unless it was to take the fight to the Silver Hand. Each time, she would return, sometimes with news, and sometimes with none. But her eyes would be bright with the hunt. The ring would be glowing on her finger. And I would send her away again and she followed my commands obediently.

But sometimes, in the evenings, we just stayed together. Sharing news. Sharing tales. Those days would be in the undercroft. Alyssa had Skjor's old room, seeing as he would no longer need it, but she kept his items tucked off to one side. She had very little to place permanently in this room.

In those moments, Alyssa and I would form close bonds of friendship. Each time, I knew that I was earning her trust, bit by bit. But I avoided asking her what her secrets were. She would tell me in time, Kodlak had promised. I trusted the old man, and I trusted Alyssa.

"You have adapted very well with the wolf," I told her. "Most struggle with the beastblood for the first few weeks."

Alyssa shrugged at this. "The ring of Hircine seems to work wonders on Vargur," she responded, gesturing the said ring. It glittered on her fingers. "He hardly gives me any trouble."

At her side, Meeko rested his chin on her lap and thumped his tail steadily on the ground.

"Vargur?" I echoed.

Alyssa stared at me. "That's his name," she said.

"You've named your wolf?"

"Haven't you?"

We both sounded bemused and perplexed with one another. I hadn't thought of once giving my inner wolf a name. I mean, the wolf _was_ me. And yet Alyssa seemed to believe that her wolf's spirit was something...else. Something not quite with her. She even called her wolf a male, when she evidently was not so.

"Why do you call your beast Vargur?" I asked.

Alyssa shrugged. "That's the name he gave me, when I first woke," she said. "He growls and mutters in the dark recesses of my mind. He told me his name, over and over, until I was certain to remember it."

"Vargur...sounds almost like an independent spirit," I commented.

"Maybe he is," Alyssa said. Her voice meant to be light-hearted; but I sensed the caution there, and realized that she already knew something about her inner wolf.

However, I remembered Kodlak's words and decided not to press the point.

"Vargur becomes me when I release him," Alyssa said thoughtfully. "And when I become myself again, he draws back. We seem to take it in turns to be physical. It's difficult, sometimes, but I'm growing used to it. Does that ever happen with you, Aela?"

"Often," I replied. "But I don't call my spirit a name. As far as I'm concerned, the wolf _is_ me now. You should be one also."

Alyssa shrugged. "I think I am, in some ways. But perhaps not in _that_ way."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe later," Alyssa told me.

Unhappily I relented. "You know that you can trust me, don't you?"

"Of course," Alyssa said, and she smiled. "But I'm not ready yet. Can you understand that?"

"I guess," I said.

Our topic changed from that of our inner wolves and to more shocking revelations.

"Have you heard that Vittoria Vici was murdered recently?" I asked. "A gargoyle crashed onto her when she was giving a speech to her guests."

Alyssa nodded. "Oh, yes. I was at the wedding. Truly awful, that was. The Dark Brotherhood were even sighted there."

"Did you see them?" I asked.

"There were two, I think. There was an Argonian, and this Nord, though her face was covered by a mask and her features couldn't be seen. They both disappeared pronto after the wedding was disrupted." Alyssa softly laughed. "And so the Penitus Oculatus had better stop trying to find them. They are not going to succeed very easily."

"Nobody's managed to find those slippery Dark Brotherhood assassins," I agreed.

"...There have been cases," Alyssa said. "The wedding, though, was one of the Brotherhoods' masterpieces. The Emperor himself has now come into Skyrim. Vittoria was his cousin, after all. He'd better watch out; whispers are that the Brotherhood are trying to assassinate the entire Mede family and all their relations."

"You think they'll succeed?"

"Possibly," Alyssa shrugged. "It all comes down to luck, though. If a Brotherhood agent could possibly get close enough to the Emperor and away again..."

"They could never do it," I argued.

Alyssa shrugged. "Apparently they have a new member. That Nord woman with the mask? She's been seen at every major death in the province. That bard in Morthal, the beggar in Ivarstead, the couple at Half Moon Mill...you've heard about those?"

"Yes. Apparently, the workers at the Mill were vampires."

"Shocking. But witnesses of that Nord masked woman claim that she just melts in and out of the darkness as though she was a shadow itself. They're starting to think she's some kind of phantom; nobody can catch her a few seconds afterwards."

"Let's hope she doesn't come here, then," I said.

Alyssa's eyes flashed with excitement, and then became thoughtfully dark again. "I doubt it," she commented. "Anyway, I had better be going again. I'm heading towards Solitude, so I'll drop by in Fort Snowhawk on the long way around. The Silver Hand will never know what hit them."

"Good luck," I told her.

Before she left, I gave Meeko a friendly pat, and he licked my cheek in response and wagged his tail brightly. He trotted faithfully after Alyssa; that clever dog (and Circle-brother) had accompanied Alyssa to all her Silver Hand eradication missions. Sometimes he returned with a fresh scar. But he always seemed quite proud of it. He was upholding his oath quite well, I saw, and I always smiled to myself when I remembered his Circle ceremony. Fang would've been so jealous if he had been around to see it, I was certain of it.

I headed back to my room. It was dark, and I was feeling tired for the first time in a long time. The wolf, it seemed, was quite content to lie dormant in me for a night, and I pictured it curled up and sleeping, softly snoring. It was almost soothing to me. As I hung up my armour on the mannequin and slung my arrows and my bow onto the weapon rack, pulling on softer garments over my scarred body, I heard something small and metallic thud onto the ground nearby.

I glanced towards it, still shrugging one arm into the sleeve of my tunic. The candlelight flashed on the exterior of it.

The amulet. Skjor's amulet. The one I had given to him on New Life.

I crouched down and picked it up, wondering if it was real. It was heavy and solid in my hand, and looked completely unchanged. Eorlund had truly forged a masterpiece. The antler tips were still reaching and graceful. The emerald eyes flashed as though they were alive. Every intricate detail was still perfect.

When had I picked this up? How long had I carried it around? I could hardly remember. But it was here now, with me.

A part of Skjor was here with me.

I clenched my hand gently over it, feeling the antler barbs pricking gently into my skin. It was cold, but soon, under my touch, it grew warm again. My other hand went to my wolf amulet, tracing the eartips of the wolf. Then I grasped the wolf's head in my fingertips, unclenched my other hand, and brought the two near one another.

Wolf and stag, one bronze and one silver, gently touched against one another.

A wave of tiredness suddenly washed over me. Feeling my weariness catch up with me, I headed over towards my bed and sank down gingerly onto it. As my head connected with the pillow, I distantly realized that I was still holding Skjor's amulet.

But then suddenly everything just disappeared and I felt myself sinking down into sleep.

Or was it?

Barely a few seconds passed before a blank whiteness unfolded across my vision. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. There appeared to be nothing, at first.

And then, very subtle shades of silver and green and brown began to outline trees, and a few tussocks of grass. They were very faint, but against the white, they were quite noticeable. Uncertainly, I looked around. I couldn't quite feel my body, though some part of me told me that my head was longer, and that I had more than two legs, and I could move my ears independently.

_What the?_ I wondered, bemused. _Am I in the Communal again?_

No...this didn't look like the Communal. But what was this place, then?

And then suddenly a huge creature lumbered gracefully out from the swirling white background, dark as coal, with bright, cool hazel-coloured eyes, that were focused upon me.

I realized that the huge wolf that stood before me was a female. I could see her teats beneath her round belly, and the imperious way that she walked and swaggered also told me of her gender. She gazed at me squarely and I stared back at her. What in Nirn was happening?

"You don't even recognize me?" the she-wolf inquired.

I recoiled in shock. The she-wolf's voice wasn't at all wolfish. In fact, it was a woman's voice, but with such clarity that I was taken aback. Her words thundered in my skull.

"Am I meant to?" I asked her in response.

She laughed, and the she-wolf's jaws parted and the laughter echoed louder. "But I am your Mother," she chortled.

"Mother?" I echoed.

"Mother _wolf_," corrected the she-wolf.

I stared at her. "I don't understand."

"Then I will explain to you, daughter. Who is your Father?"

"By birth or by moon?"

She stared at me. "What do _you_ think, fellow hunter?"

"Hircine," I said.

She bared her fangs at me in a wide smile. "Ah, wonderful, you _do_ remember. I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get through this meeting."

"But we've only just—"

"Ah, the niggling questions! Stop with them!" she said sharply, in a surprisingly motherly tone, and quickly I broke off from my intended sentence. Then the she-wolf said, "Oh, but he's never told you of your Mother, has he? Hircine may have expressed pride and pleasure and warmth in you, my little Aela, but he has not once even _mentioned_ me to you?"

I wasn't exactly sure what to say, except: "How do you know my name?"

The she-wolf stared at me as though I was stupid. "You haven't even made the connection, Huntress? Well, you certainly may be strong and prideful but you're not my most overly intelligent child—no offense, of course. I am your Mother, and therefore the wolf-wife of Hircine. You've never been to Cyrodiil, have you; seen that statue to Hircine there, somewhere at the edges of the West Weald? No? Pity; it was crumbling down anyway, but I can still show you. Turn around. You can move, you know."

I felt my consciousness shift around, and heard my paws thud lightly on the ground beneath me. Something rapidly revealed itself to me, through subtle strokes of green, brown and blue, as though it stood outlined against a distant forest. A mighty white structure of stone, showing a huge humanoid figure who bore a stag's head, hand raised over a mighty wolf who stood at his side.

"Few know me, sadly, but I'm not a Daedric Prince, so I suppose that explains my anonymous attire," the she-wolf said, almost wearily, behind me, and suddenly she was there, right at my side, and gazing warmly at the statue—at Hircine in particular. "But I hope that at least in the heart of one I can change that. Or maybe two...I might go and visit my other daughter later..."

"Are you...are you the wolf in that statue?" I asked.

"Of _course_ I am!" the she-wolf declared. "And Hircine is my husband. He is the Father of Manbeasts, yes? That's what he likes to be called, of course."

I glanced at her. "So what are you?"

The she-wolf snorted. "Me? I just told you; I'm the wolf-wife. The Mother of Wolves. And therefore, _your_ mother."

"Do you...have a name, Mother?" I asked.

"Who doesn't?" she reflected. "I have several names. Hircine likes to call me his pet. I think I remind him of the time he had Barbas. Bah; the stupid hound serves Clavicus now. Anyway, my name? Yes. Lupa. You can call me Lupa."

Lupa, the Mother of Wolves. Not once had I heard about her. But when I gazed at her then, upon hearing her full name...I sensed that I _should_ have always known about her. Hircine had, however, not mentioned her once to me. Had he maybe mentioned something of the sort to Alyssa? His aspect had appeared before Alyssa as well.

"But you're not a Daedric Prince," I said.

"Oh, no, no," Lupa said conversationally. "I have very little influence over the lives of men. I only come to wolves. Now _they_ know _me_, and they honour me by hunting in my name in particular. I am their Mother. However, I do so enjoy coming to speak with my most loyal wolves, even if they do bear the foul stench of men."

I decided not to take offense to this. "So you're a deity to the wolves, then?"

"And a deity to a certain band of ruffians in the world-to-come," shrugged Lupa. "But you needn't worry your little mind over that subtle matter now." She beamed at me. "You still have a task to do. I just came to you to tell you about me, so you can eventually remember me. It's nice to be remembered by something that has a little more honour than most of my children, every once in a while."

I wasn't exactly sure what to say to this. Eventually, I settled for, "Why haven't I heard about you before?"

"Because it wasn't _right_ then," Lupa said in exasperation. "Do you know that feeling, Aela? That feeling, when it's just..._right_ to do something? When the moment's right _there_, waiting to be grasped? Of course you do; what am I saying? You're a hunter; of course you get that feeling _all_ the time. When you aren't swearing vengeance to your lover, of course."

"Skjor?"

"Ah, so that's the little whelp's name?" Lupa's voice was fond. "Ah, he's having the time of his life in the Hunting Grounds. If only you could see him _without_ having to stay there forever and ever until the world dies and moves on to the next...now that is going to take a very long time to happen. Again, you needn't worry about it."

"But what is this world that you talk about?"

"Silence! You don't ask!" Lupa said with a frown. "You'll find out soon enough. But I haven't come here to gossip...or have I?" She giggled coyly and said, "I haven't done this much talking in Ages. You're a great conversation piece, Huntress. Hircine rarely has time for me at the moment. Too busy sharpening his antlers. We should get together again sometime...maybe when you've completed your task, hmm?"

"Ah..."

"Very good, girl. And I must say, you're doing a _very_ nice job on the revenge and stuff. Ooh, it's delicious to taste, your vengeance. Feed me again soon, hmm? Oh! You do so already. Why am I so forgetful today? Maybe because there's going to be a lot of chaos. We wolves so love chaos, but only if we cause it. You'll find that your friend causes it more than you ever realize." Lupa's wolfish smile broadened. "Oh, please, enough with the confusion, Aela. You look like a fish."

I _was_ feeling pretty confused now. I was trying to decide on a word that described Lupa, but so far, none came to mind.

Eventually I just said, "Why were we here again?"

For every word I said, she spouted about fifty more.

This time, however, she just prowled a few times around me, her smile never diminishing. "Because I want to express my _pride_ for you, Aela," she purred. "You've done a very good job serving Hircine so far; better than my husband will admit. I'll probably have to chase him again and knock some sense into him when I catch him. But you really are born into the skin of a she-wolf. You were born to be in the Hunting Grounds."

"I'm...not going there now, am I?"

"Oh, heavens, no. Hircine would be furious if I reunited you with Skjor so soon," frowned Lupa. "But you needn't worry for your mate. He's quite happy in the Hunting Grounds. He misses you, of course, if I really want to get so mortally sentimental. But you'll find him in the Grounds when the time is right, my girl. In the meantime, best keep you waiting. _And_ you still have a task to do."

Of course I did. Panjor. Only when it was complete would Hircine permit me to speak to him again.

"I should probably say the same," sighed Lupa. "A real pity. You and I really should get together for a moonlight hunt sometime. I'll see just how well accustomed you are with your wolf. I'll just have to wait until you're dead, though. And that's probably going to take several years, knowing you mortals. So; farewell, my huntress! I do hope we'll see each other again."

"Yeah..." _No way._

Lupa stepped back, and lifted her elegant wolf's head and howled before I could say another word.

And when I opened my eyes, lying on my bed, I still hadn't decided what on Nirn to describe the dream I had just had.

* * *

When day dawned, Vilkas noticed that something was a little off with me. At first, he suspected that it was Skjor, but when he asked me about it, to his surprise, I denied it.

"So what is it, then?" he asked.

"Vilkas...do you know of a Mother Wolf?" I dared to ask.

He was confused. "What?"

"Never mind. Just...a really bizarre dream I had last night."

I decided to share it with Alyssa when she returned.

However, the days passed. Then a week. In that time, I heard of news from Solitude. That apparently, the Nord assassin had been sighted fighting off several Penitus Oculatus guardsmen after an attempt on the Emperor's life, and that the Oculatus agents had also discovered and burned the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, which turned out to be in Falkreath. That was only a day or two ago; we could see the smoke rising from Whiterun, the flames were that bad in devouring. The Sanctuary, it had seemed, was now completely destroyed and the Dark Brotherhood was wiped out forever.

When a week passed, I began to grow anxious. Alyssa should have been back by now, but she wasn't.

I didn't want to think that she could have been killed by the Silver Hand. Wouldn't I know, of a sort, if she had died? Some part of me told me that she was still alive. But she hadn't been gone this long on a contract before. Surely she'd have returned by now?

When I confided in Kodlak my worry of her long absence, he frowned.

"Do you think it's another of her commitments?" he asked.

I hesitated. There was a strange, knowing gleam in his eyes that made me suspect he was starting to catch on to our hidden war. However, I concealed my emotions by narrowing my eyes and saying in a carefully expressionless voice, "Probably. She's always busy, after all."

"Yes..." Kodlak agreed slowly. After a tense pause, he said, "Tell Alyssa to see me when she returns to Jorrvaskr. I wish to speak with her, alone."

I felt a spasm of worry shoot through me. I knew that Kodlak would be angry if he knew of how many Silver Hand we had killed. I knew we hadn't found Panjor yet, and there could have been other ways to try and locate him. My anger refused to let me see another way, and rage still boiled in my blood. I stiffly nodded and quickly left his quarters, not wishing to let my anxiety show through. I wasn't ashamed of the countless I had condemned to die through Alyssa's claws. But I was scared that she would take the blame for it, should Kodlak catch on.

Then, nearly ten days later, she returned. I had just made the decision to head out to Fort Snowhawk and try to find Alyssa myself, and was about to go and pack a few supplies for the journey, when suddenly the doors to Jorrvaskr creaked open and Alyssa struggled in. She struggled because she appeared to be in some discomfort. I realized that Meeko had several clumps of fur missing and Alyssa had fresh scars to her face.

"Stendarr's mercy," I said, by means of greeting, as I hurried over to her. Thank the Gods that currently, the hall was empty, as Athis, Njada and Ria were swapping blade skills in the courtyard, Tilma was freshing up the beds, Vignar and his manservant were currently walking off lunch, the twins were clearing out a bandit hideout and Kodlak was, as usual, locked away downstairs. The doors thudded shut behind Alyssa and she leaned, exhausted, against the doorway, clutching her shoulder as though in pain, though she softly laughed at my disbelief.

"What the hell happened to you?" I demanded. "Why were you away for so long?"

Alyssa seemed to be catching her breath. "A...lot...of things," she rasped. "Which you are going to find...unbelievable."

"Are? So you're going to tell me?"

"Maybe...after...a breather."

I helped her to a seat at the table. Meeko, exhausted, slumped down in front of the fire. Alyssa seemed to be in a bad way. Half-healed burns marred one side of her already-badly-damaged face, and when she permitted me to examine her injured shoulder, I saw huge, red scald marks gripping her back and shoulder and the even the top of her arm and the base of her neck.

"Shor have mercy on you," I breathed, as I gently applied some medicine to the burns. Alyssa jumped and winced several times, though she didn't complain and let me continue. "What the hell did you get into a fight with, Alyssa?"

"Fire," she replied grimly.

"From what?"

She hesitated for only a moment. "A dragon," she said.

"You ran into a dragon?" I repeated.

"And...uh...ran away from it," Alyssa responded. "I was tired out after my short trip to Solitude. Business, you know; I needed to meet with someone. I was heading towards Fort Snowhawk...and then the fire came, quite unexpectedly to be honest. The next thing I knew, I was fleeing for my life. Actually, I almost died." She spoke so matter-of-factly that it unnerved me.

"You don't look like someone who just escaped from a dragon," I commented.

Alyssa frowned. "Well, that's what...happened."

The way that she slightly paused made me sense that maybe she wasn't telling the whole truth...or the truth at all. I frowned, and said, "I know you're lying, Alyssa."

She sighed. "Damn. I used to be so good at persuasion."

"What happened? Was it the Silver Hand?"

"No. I killed them, by the way, but it wasn't them. Something else." Her eyes opened and she looked pleadingly at me. "But...look, I know you must be so pissed with me right now, Aela, but...I need a bit of time to think. Hell just came and smiled at me a week ago and I'm still trying to wrap my head around all that's happened so far. I don't think that I'm ready to tell you about it just yet. Can you...please, can you understand this?"

I sighed. "All right. But please, tell me...when you're ready."

Alyssa shakily smiled. "Thank you. I really appreciate your understanding, Aela. I really do."

She sounded genuinely grateful. I couldn't resist a small smile myself as I gently administered a cooling cream onto her burns. Alyssa sighed with relief as the healing balms did their job. Meeko, after a moment, struggled to his paws and limped over to his mistress's side, and flopped down near her boots. When I was done treating Alyssa's injuries, I gave the bottle to Alyssa, and she began to apply the cream to the bald patches on Meeko's body. I saw that much of his fur was singed and blackened here and there. Obviously, whatever he and his mistress had gone through, it had _not_ been pretty.

After a moment, she straightened up and flexed her shoulder. "By the Gods, that feels so much better already."

"Did you find anything out in Fort Snowhawk?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I was basically in and out again, I'm afraid. I had to get someplace in a bit of a hurry. But there wasn't anything there. Did you get any more news while you were here?"

I frowned slightly. "Yes. Kodlak wants to see you."

Alyssa sat up slightly, caution now written all over her face. "What does he want with me?"

"To be truthful...I have a feeling he's caught onto our little scheme," I said to her, in a low voice.

Alyssa's eyes narrowed. "How do you want me to handle it?"

"If you want my advice," I said, "don't lie to the old man, but there's no need to tell him anything he doesn't need to know."

Alyssa nodded. "I understand."

She rose to her feet, winced slightly at the suddenness of her movement, but straightened up at once. Meeko whimpered and fought to rise, but Alyssa told her dog sternly, "No, boy. Wait here, with Aela. I won't be too long, I promise."

Meeko growled with discontent but reluctantly subsided.

Alyssa straightened, murmuring lovingly to her dog, "Good boy." Then she headed into the undercroft.

As for me, I took her vacated seat, and gently petted Meeko's head.

"What the hell were you doing with her, boy?" I muttered.

Meeko sighed and thumped his tail twice on the ground.

* * *

"I've got another priority," Alyssa told me.

"From Kodlak?" I asked.

She nodded. "He thinks he's found a cure for his lycanthropy."

I was startled. "Seriously? What is it?"

"Oh, don't tell me you're interested in curing yourself," Alyssa said, her voice teasing.

I scowled at her. "Hardly. My place is with Hircine and Lupa."

"Wait a moment...Lupa?" Confusion was written across Alyssa's face now.

Damn. I realized I hadn't told Alyssa about the Mother Wolf. Quickly, I explained to her the bizarre dream I had had well over a week ago. Alyssa frowned, taking in the information, though she didn't seem to know any more about this Lupa than I did.

"Have you talked to the twins about it?" Alyssa asked.

"No. They want to give up the beastblood too, remember? I doubt it'd bode well talking about Hircine's wolf-wife."

"True," Alyssa reflected. "Though it's odd. I never imagined Hircine having a wife before. But thinking more clearly about it, it makes a bit more sense. Hircine is the Father of Manbeasts, and Lupa the Mother of Wolves. Why is Hircine always depicted with a stag's head on a man's body. A man and a beast."

"Thanks for the philosophy."

"You're welcome. In the meantime, yes, Kodlak knows about our scheme. He had some advice for you too, Aela."

"What was it?" I asked.

Alyssa was puzzled. "I don't understand it probably as much as you might. He told you to remember the prophecy."

After a pause, I frowned. "Right."

"Aela...there's a prophecy about you?" Alyssa was startled.

"I'll tell you about it another time," I said to her. "When I'm ready."

Alyssa nodded, understanding. "Right, right...when I'm ready to tell you about me, you're ready to tell me about you. Is that it?"

"Pretty much."

"That sounds fair." Alyssa cracked a small smile. "But...I'm not heading to Falkreath immediately."

"You aren't?"

"I know that Kodlak wants to get this done immediately. But I need a bit of time alone...Bad memories in Falkreath, ones I'm still trying to shake off. I probably won't be back for several long days. I'll stop briefly in the Bannered Mare for...supplies...and then I'll be gone." Alyssa sounded apologetic. "But I'll be back as soon as I know I'm ready to cross through Falkreath Hold again."

As she began to leave Jorrvaskr, Meeko trotting faithfully at her side, I couldn't help but ask of her, "What happened in the Hold, Alyssa?"

She stopped. I wondered if she was going to deny me this.

But instead, she half-turned. And she said quietly, "I lost a family."

And then she and Meeko had gone before I could ask her what she meant.

* * *

**A/N: So, what did you think of Lupa? If you search Lupa on the internet you'll discover that she's part of today legend. I promise you that I have a perfectly good reason why she's called that, but you will have to wait until Eagle Wings, Dragon Hearts to discover this completely.**

**And if you've done DB questline, then you'd know what she had to go through over the past few days. If anyone's wondering, she's going to have a little conversation with that *damned* Motierre fellow in the inn. And then she'll be heading back up to Solitude...**

**As always, please r&r. The next chapter, fifty-eight, is now coming! So looking forward to posting this chapter, and have been since chapter thirty-five or something. If you remember what Hircine told Aela during the chapter Bloodmoon concerning Sinding then you might get an idea of what's going to happen XD**


	59. Chapter 58 - Thieves Deserve to Die

**A/N: And here we are again! Thank you, everyone who has reviewed! Yaaay...**

**And anyway, I have been so keenly anticipating this chapter for a very, very long time...in fact, it was so long, I split it up into two parts! Hehe, familiar? But the second part will be out soon: I'll let you review first...**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Eight

_Lost a family? What could have she meant by that?_

I still puzzled over Alyssa's last words to me. I didn't understand them in the slightest, and yet I felt that I should. What had happened to her in Falkreath Hold? It wasn't the place that I immediately thought of her having a family there at all...

She said that she had numerous jobs in Skyrim. Falkreath. Winterhold. Riften. She disappeared regularly, coming back sometimes later or earlier than she promised she'd return by. She'd hardly been the most...current Companion, but she was always back, wasn't she? That was what mattered, and what was more, she upheld the honour of the Companions.

I still suspected that Farkas knew something about her. However, though he was slow at the best of times, I wasn't going to be cruel and catch him off-guard with a question. I knew that I had her interest piqued with my prophecy, and to be honest, I was wondering why she was so interested. Was she a kind of scholar? Maybe she was tied up with the College. That seemed to be the most logical explanation, I supposed, though Alyssa really didn't strike me as a mage.

However, that memory in Dustman's Cairn hadn't left me too quickly. Fire-scorched corpses could only have been performed by a mage. Flame spells must be one of Alyssa's secondary attacks, though I had seen her spar with Ria and Njada a few times in the courtyard and she proved to be just as good with a blade as she was with a bow.

A day passed, and then another. I had already guessed by that time, Alyssa would be off for a week, so I put all my efforts into tracking down another location of the Silver Hand. Farkas and Vilkas had the sense to steer clear of me. They believed me perhaps to be still caught up in my grief of Skjor. But the sharpness of the grief was beginning to pass. Maybe it was my Mother, telling me that Skjor was fine, gambolling about in the Hunting Grounds like a puppy, who had comforted me...in the ways that a sub-Daedra possibly could. It still felt strange, recollecting that time when I had spoken to her, for the first time, learning about Lupa the wolf-wife of my Father.

Skjor's amulet, I kept treasured in the bottom of my chest, and I forced myself not to look at it, keeping it buried and folded beneath my simple garments. New Life Festival, Fourth Era 202, was when I had given it to him. For a few short months, he had owned it, worn it, been so perfect. Whenever I thought of Skjor now, I always saw him as a mighty stag, tall, proud and fierce, majestic creature of the wilds. And I was the she-wolf who prowled to him, hunted him, never letting him drift from my sight for too long.

Hircine the Huntsman was always depicted and manifested himself as a hunter with the head of a magnificent stag upon his shoulders, long, curled antlers glinting. And Lupa the wolf-wife was a wolf. Had they known that Skjor and I were like them, in some small way? The stag and the wolf?

It didn't matter now. I would make sure that nobody suffered from the same grief that I felt over Skjor's death. I would make sure that the Companions were never hurt by the Silver Hand again.

It made me wonder, though, on the third night of Alyssa's absence, how much time had passed since that New Life Festival, since I first gave Skjor the stag amulet. Vaguely, I reflected on the months now.

Rain's Hand. It was Rain's Hand now. The date, I couldn't care less about. But it had been four months since Alyssa came to join the Companions.

Four months.

It was hard to believe how quickly time had passed, how much had happened to that woman. In four months, she had proven herself to the Companions time and time again, become a member of the Circle, and taken the beastblood, becoming a werewolf. She and I, for two weeks...three weeks...nearing a month, had hunted the Silver Hand in secret.

They were turning back now, falling back in the wake of Alyssa's anger. I was astonished at the power that she commanded, the way that she so skillfully eliminated them, stalking through their lesser burrows and ending their lives as mercilessly as the wolf. It made me wonder at her luck, at the way she eliminated her enemies so skillfully. Something that I promised I would ask her when I came back. I had not seen Alyssa often in battle, besides that in Gallows Rock, but something told me that she made an excellent warrior.

Not just of the wilds, either.

* * *

"Aela! Aela, have you heard the news?"

The moment I walked into Jorrvaskr, I was almost bombarded by Torvar, who was shocked to the core by the looks and the smell of him. Startled, I stepped back.

"What?" I asked.

"By the Gods, she hasn't heard the news!" Njada said in amazement. "Where the hell have you been all this time, Huntress?"

"Hunting," I responded, brushing past Torvar, to see that pretty much everyone was in Jorrvaskr, exclaiming over something that I was yet to find out. Ria was pacing nervously, her face very pale. Athis looked very wary and cautious, like a disturbed sabre cat, crimson eyes flashing here and there and one hand nervously tracing the hilt of his sword. Farkas and Vilkas simply looked grim. Kodlak, I presumed, was downstairs.

"What's happened?" I demanded, almost impatiently.

"The Emperor's been murdered!" Ria burst out.

My turn to be shocked. I clapped a hand to my mouth, stunned.

"Who...?"

"The Dark Brotherhood!" Torvar exclaimed. "They got to him, after all. They say it was that Nord woman again, the one in the mask!"

"No...impossible! The Penitus Oculatus..."

"Their captain, Maro, turned up dead, just like his son did in Markarth," Njada frowned. "But how the Nord assassin managed to infiltrate the Katariah and escape again undetected...I'd be buggered if I knew. But the Oculatus agents came in to check on the Emperor shortly after they discovered their captain dead...and the Emperor was lying on the floor of his cabin, in a pool of blood..." She shivered.

"The Dark Brotherhood haven't been destroyed after all," Vilkas murmured. "And they came right back and did the job that they were hired for. The Oculatus are stumped and shocked. They're searching all the way through Falkreath's burned-up Sanctuary but they haven't found any signs that the assassins are still living there. As far as we're concerned, the Brotherhood could be anywhere."

"We need to keep an eye out. Does Balgruuf know?"

"Actually, Irileth told me, and I told them," Athis explained quietly. "I think the entire palace is in shock now. But the Emperor...it's history repeating it-bloody-self all over again. Now the Empire is without an Emperor!"

"Is this a sign that maybe the Stormcloaks are meant to win after all?" Ria pondered, fearfully. Despite the fact that her kinsmen were fighting she was neutral to the war, as she revered Tiber Septim as many Nords revered Talos.

"Maybe," Torvar frowned.

"This might have nothing to do with the war at all," scowled Farkas.

"Farkas is right; it could be just coincidental," Vilkas added. "But we have to keep an eye out for any Dark Brotherhood assassins anywhere around the Hold. The Emperor was killed a day ago. They could be anywhere and everywhere."

"What's the betting that Balgruuf is going to try and get us to hunt them down?" I asked, recollecting that memory in Last Seed last year when he had tried to get us to hunt down the revived Thieves Guild.

Vilkas paled slightly.

"Hunting down thieves is one thing," he said. "The only thing you're in danger of is losing your possessions. But hunting down the Dark Brotherhood? You've heard the rumours; a Listener has been re-established in Skyrim, protecting those assassins. If we don't find them, then they'll find us."

"Hunting down the Dark Brotherhood is about as safe as pissing off the Thalmor," frowned Torvar.

"The best thing we can do," I said, "is make sure that the citizens of Whiterun are safe."

"I second that," said Farkas.

"Same here," Ria said.

Athis nodded, Njada folded her arms, and Torvar looked determined.

"And keep an eye out for the Nord woman in the mask," Vilkas frowned. "If she's managed to kill the Emperor then she could be anywhere."

* * *

It was funny how fate could play with us sometimes, and particularly with our words. Barely two days later, Amaund Motierre in the Bannered Mare had mysteriously turned up dead, stabbed discreetly through the chest, with an obvious mark of the Dark Brotherhood beside him.

"They say it was the Nord woman in the mask," Farkas added, when he and I went to investigate only to discover that the Bannered Mare was closed, several guardsmen stood just outside the door and a crowd had already formed. "Getting revenge on that man. I think he wronged the Brotherhood somehow."

I shrugged. "I suppose that's what you get for dealing with them. Apparently he was the one who hired the Emperor's murder. An old contract was found next to him."

Farkas scowled. "Then good riddance."

"Anyway, I'm going hunting," I told him. Time to exit Whiterun out the front door, I think, and check up on how the Khajiit caravan was going. I had a few goods that I could give him and I had heard they had set camp just outside of town. "See if you can find out any more information."

"I'll try," Farkas offered.

I met very little resistance when I headed back through Whiterun, several pelts and even a set of antlers gathered under my arm. One guard asked where I was going though I don't think he really cared, and he certainly wasn't exactly pleased when I told him I was going to speak with the Khajiit just outside the city.

"Be careful they don't hook you up on Skooma," he grunted as I passed him.

I stopped and glared at him.

"Be careful you don't rule your life by prejudice," I warned him.

The guard shot me a glance. "What's it to you?"

"The fact that some of those Khajiit out there even speak better than you do," I replied, and was out of the gates before he could call me back or even threaten to arrest me.

I couldn't resist a triumphant smirk, though. Twenty years had passed since I first walked through those gates into Whiterun. I could still remember the 'welcome' I had received from one particularly aggressive, cynical and rude guardsman. _And look where I am now,_ I thought. _The Huntress of Whiterun Hold. Even now I still do business with Hulda...however, I highly doubt I can get into the Bannered Mare at this stage, even for a delivery._

It wasn't long before I saw the Khajiit caravan. Ri'saad pricked his ears at my approach, and graciously he welcomed me. "Ah, Huntress! It is good to see you again. This one trusts you have come for business?"

"I have, Ri'saad," I replied, shrugging off my load onto the ground. "What'll you give me for these?"

Halfway through our business dealings, I heard the sound of hooves on the cobblestones echoing just behind me. I straightened and glanced around, some part of me hoping that it was Alyssa, returning, maybe even having completed her task in Falkreath.

No; it was Sable-Hilt, probably exercising one of his boarders. It wasn't Queen Alfsigr, that was for sure; the black mare, who I had later learned was the offspring of Eve, Skjor's old mare, was standing in the stables, watching with curiosity as a mighty grey stallion was led out onto the road.

Hang on...didn't I recognize the horse?

After a moment, the horse turned his attention to me, and his ears flicked up, eyes sparkling with recognition. And I realized I did recognize him, and I frowned in confusion. That was Warrior...but Alyssa didn't go anywhere without him. Was she in the city?

"Hang on," I told Ri'saad, and headed away from the caravan, almost jogging to catch up to Sable-Hilt before he could take Warrior out for a run over the surrounding meadows around the Hold. Warrior glanced back towards me, chewing absently on the bit, before letting out a nicker to his rider.

"Huntress!" Sable-Hilt greeted me. "What can I do for you?"

"Afternoon, Skulvar," I responded. "But can you tell me when Alyssa returned to Whiterun?"

"Alyssa?" Sable-Hilt's eyebrows rose slightly. "Er...remind me...?"

"The owner of this horse," I prompted.

His expression cleared. "Oh! _Her!_ Oh, she hasn't been to Whiterun for...let me see...a week, is it?"

I frowned. "But that's her horse," I said. Warrior twitched one ear and pawed the ground restlessly, old scars flashing in the sunlight. I certainly wasn't mistaken. "She doesn't go anywhere without him."

"Well, she did this time," Sable-Hilt replied. "She told me to look after this one for as long as I needed to while she was out. Then she got onto another horse and rode off."

I paused. "I didn't know she had two horses."

Sable-Hilt shrugged. "She does. Horse dark as coal, some mighty stallion. Swore his eyes were red, too, but what a figure! He might've made a good breeding horse but he ran swift as the wind. Alyssa was quite fond of that one. He enjoyed the attention he gave her, anyway." He chuckled. "I swear that he's about as intelligent as that dog of hers. He had that look in his eye."

Yes. I had seen that look often enough to no longer be unnerved by it. I glanced at Warrior, seeing a characteristic gleam in his brown gaze, and absently I stroked his muzzle. He snorted with the pleasure, nightblack forelock falling slightly over one side of his face. "Do you know when she'll be back?" I asked.

Sable-Hilt shrugged. "Dunno. But she pays for this one's board and that's all I need to know. Just wants this one exercised every few days, says he grows restless if kept in the stalls and the corral for too long. Anyway, I had best be off. This one, I've discovered, has the endurance of a troll. Goes for hours before he gets fatigued."

"He is a fighter," I said, stepping back. Warrior still looked as strong, grizzled and fortified as he did the first time I had seen him two months ago.

"He is. Got as much spirit as Allie," chuckled Sable-Hilt, before he drove his heels gently into Warrior's sides and the grey stallion exploded forward, clearing a low fence and galloping off across Whiterun's plains.

* * *

I hunted myself to the point of exhaustion, and came back not just mentally exhausted, but also physically. The wolf decided to let me rest that night, and after the evening meal, I slipped gratefully back into the peace and shadows of my bedroom, slipping out from my armour and hanging it up on the mannequin and pulling some softer garments over myself.

I softly chuckled as I felt the scars. Twenty years of fighting tended to leave quite a few. But some were more memorable than others. The smooth scald marks on my side was where a Briarheart had swept a flaming torch against me, when I had been called into the Reach sixteen years ago. Ugly marks up my leg were the only remainders from my encounters with those two Hagravens, Myasi and Vagrusa. Even now I still remembered those foul names. A light silvery slash across my chest was where the Falmer had struck me in Kagrenzel, when I began to take in that poison. Wider-spaced bite marks on my calves was where the giant Frostbite Spider in Steepfall Deep had bitten me and almost paralyzed me. I remembered that had been where I found the Fragment of Wuuthrad with Farkas and Vilkas. They were only eighteen then, I remembered, and as skilled as what they had been named for; the men with the Strength and the Smarts of Ysgramor.

And, of course, the teeth marks of the wolves, who had ambushed me when I was sixteen. My very first scars from my first battle, a battle which I had lost nonetheless, but the defeat was overshadowed by the victories that rapidly followed.

I smiled vaguely to myself and lay back onto my bed. Only a few minutes passed before I closed my eyes and sank into the blissful comforts of sleep, hearing the whelps and the twins head back downstairs after probably drinking themselves into stupors again.

It must have been about midnight when suddenly my dreams were interrupted by a savage snarl, and my eyes flew open to darkness. I realized that the snarl had come from the wolf, which had suddenly risen from its dormant state.

_What the...?_

The wolf growled aggressively and restlessly paced in my mind. I shook my head to clear it slightly. I was tired, for once, and I wanted rest.

But the wolf growled again, and I could almost see the bronze eyes flashing.

_Violator,_ the wolf snarled. _Infiltrator. Thief._

What? What in the Lord's bow was it talking about?

The wolf's ears flattened. _Violator. Infiltrator. Thief._

I frowned slightly, and slowly sat up, every sense losing the pangs of drowsiness and becoming alert.

_Violator. Infiltrator. Thief._

The wolf sounded certain. I wasn't about to argue with it; it hadn't failed me for the fifteen years we had been acquainted, and it wouldn't fail me now. I rose slowly from the side of my bed, slipping into my armour in barely a minute, strapping my dagger to my side. I left my bow and my arrows. The dagger, I felt, would be all I needed.

I stole quietly out into the corridor. The cool night air struck my bare skin, but I moved forward silently, the wolf urging me on, but not in the same manner that it had when I was about to make the change. The wolf knew its place this time, but it prowled alongside my consciousness, ears pricked forward, senses alert and tense for every slightest movement.

And I was halfway through the undercroft when I began to hear something.

The very softest, slightest footstep, issuing from the wooden stairs just outside the door.

I dropped into a crouch almost instinctively, and moved forward with greater silence. In the shadows of my mind I heard the wolf growl the three words again, almost in a chanting state, words bitter and dark. I heard another soft, muted footstep issue just outside the door. Realizing that anticipation was pulsing through me, I slowed my steps, approaching the door as silently as I would approach a skittish deer.

Now I could smell something. Something which I was certain I vaguely recognized. It clung to me, and it clung to Vilkas and Farkas, and to Kodlak, too. It also clung to Alyssa.

Daedric magic. Tiny traces of it.

I paused, sensing a sudden shift just outside. For about a minute, I was very still, listening with all my might. Then I heard a gentle footstep just outside, and the soft _clink_ of something slightly metallic.

Lockpick, perhaps? But the door to the undercroft wasn't locked...

But there was something outside. No...someone outside. And by the words that were whispered in my mind, over and over, I had a feeling who the person was.

A violator. An infiltrator. A thief.

I eased forward gently. I pressed my ear to the keyhole, and dynamically my hearing was improved. I heard very soft, muted breathing, smelled tense excitement, immense concentration. Heard another gentle footstep, another soft, gentle metallic sound.

And then all of it stopped. Just for a moment.

And then, I heard the footsteps slowly approach the door. Moving almost silently. I heard the very faintest rustle of some kind of fabric...clothes? A sack? Maybe one or the other...

But I sensed that suddenly, this person was listening to the door, in a very similar way to me. The only thing separating our heads was a few inches of wood.

In a flash, the peace and stillness of the night for me and the thief was broken.

I straightened and slammed the door open. one hand already going to my dagger. at the same time the thief jerked away and scrambled backwards. My senses already adapted to the dark, and the wolf howling in anger within me, I saw the thief at once. By the curves of the body, I'd say that she was female, and clothed in something that looked almost to be woven shadow. Something that I was certain that I had seen before, from somewhere. She rapidly leapt to her feet, afraid, one hand wrapped around a sack that seemed to bulge with...

My eyes flashed up to the fragments of Wuuthrad, set just above the stairs. My heart dropped into my chest. Half of them were gone.

The metallic sounds...of _course_.

"You _bitch!_" I snarled, whirling around to face the thief again, who had already backtracked up the stairs. I caught a flash of her eyes; a deep, glowing indigo. Then they had vanished as the thief spun around and begun to flee back through the silent hall of Jorrvaskr.

However, I was hot on her tail. I leapt up the stairs in hardly a second and sprinted in hot pursuit of the thief.

She was fast. She spun around, heading towards the back doors, leaping clean over the edge of the table as she did so and up onto the platform. Cloak fluttering over her shoulders, and grasping the edge of the sack firmly, she shoved the doors open and sprinted out of Jorrvaskr, me only a few steps behind her.

"Come back here!" I roared, already aware that my voice was deepening menacingly.

The thief whirled around in the training yard, tensed into a crouch, as though afraid, cornered. I stalked towards her, hearing the wolf's growls growing louder and louder. I raised the dagger, the moonlight behind me glinting on the edges. The moonbeams struck energy into my body, removing any traces of sleep from me, giving me focus, strength.

Thieves deserve to die.

A year ago, that was what Hircine had told me, as the Bloodmoon rose. Thieves deserve to die.

The thief was going to die.

I surged forward, but suddenly the thief straightened, and too late, I saw the strange magic that glittered in her fingertips. In a flash, it had been cast, and I swore as suddenly an icy coldness wrapped around my body, particularly around my eyes, completely blinding me.

"Shit!" I swore, distantly hearing running footsteps. I staggered backwards, trying to shake the blinding darkness from me, realizing in despair that it'd be useless. _Curse this Daedric magic!_

Then I suddenly heard Hircine's voice boom in my head.

_Oh, my sister really does enjoy having fun, doesn't she?_

In a flash, the darkness cleared.

_Go now, my champion. Your honour is at stake. Show no mercy._

I opened my eyes, everything growing clear again. The thief spun around, and I realized that she crouched on the very edge of Whiterun's walls. There was another flash of the eyes, beneath a cowl as dark as night; even as I ran forward she pushed herself over, the sack with Wuuthrad's fragments falling with her.

"No!" I roared, racing to the edges, but I heard the light _thud_ as the thief landed on the grassy bank just below, and begin to scramble down the rocks towards flatter grassy terrain.

The wolf snarled in my mind. _Show no mercy,_ it growled, repeating Hircine's words.

And I spun around, my mind made up, thrusting the dagger aside. I would show no mercy. Blind rage and fury was flashing through me. It had taken countless years to find those fragments—I was not going to lose them in a single night!

I slammed into the Underforge, throwing the dagger's belt aside as I did so, releasing the wolf within me. I barely paused in my running, racing down through the tunnels, the change taking over. When it grew difficult to run upright I dropped forward onto all fours, and by the time I leapt from the tunnel and into the grassy landscape surrounding, I was fully transformed, and I threw back my head and howled to the skies.

The howl of the hunt. This would be fun.

Then I bounded forward, the grass flying swiftly beneath my paws. When was the last time I had transformed like this? Driven by rage? Bloodlust pounded in my ears, blazed in my blood. It was impossible to even think of mercy as I doubled round, heading back towards the rocks where I knew the thief had climbed down.

Only to see that she had already descended. And that she was running, heading towards the White River.

She couldn't outrun a werewolf. I snarled in satisfaction, and surged forward, my paws thudding on the earth, faster than any horse could possibly run. I targeted the figure. The wind was blowing towards me, and the wolf roared with glee as I tasted her scent in greater clarity; but fear also accompanied it. She was afraid; she had not expected me to be a devout of Hircine.

I drew near. I saw her glance, panicked, back over her shoulder, pull a bow down from her shoulders as she ran. An archer. I ran faster, grunting with the effort, racing towards the woman who, in terror, drew and arrow and aimed, spinning around and pausing in her running to release.

I barely managed to save my eye from being shot through. I howled and drew back as the arrowhead sank into my shoulder, more from the shock than the pain. In a flash, she had drawn a second, aimed, and fired, aiming for my skull. I swept to the side, but not fast enough. The arrowhead struck my chest, though it didn't sink deeply into the skin, my thick, matted fur preventing real damage to take place.

This woman was a master archer, like me, like Alyssa. I snarled, curling back my lips, revealing long fangs, promising that I'd introduce her to them. I surged forward. The woman was beginning to panic now; her arrow clipped the shaggy fur along my spine but hardly touched the skin this time. She scrambled backwards, desperately, aiming for my eye, loosing. I jerked my chin up, and felt the arrowhead sink just above my collarbone, finding a vital spot into my throat.

The wolf howled, and I fell back from my charge, one paw scrabbling at the offending arrow. _Shit!_ I thought, as pain swept through me. I saw, out of the corner of watering eyes, the woman turn and run. Confident that she had weakened me? That she had killed me?

Rage flashed through me again. In a flash, I tugged out my arrow with a gasp, coughing up a small amount of blood as I did so, anger giving me strength. I dropped back down onto four paws, rapidly drawing breath, hating the pain that it brought but hating the thief more. Hell, I was not letting her escape with the fragments! I surged forward, suddenly and violently, clearing the short distance that the woman had put between me and her. At my roar of anger and triumph, she half-turned as she ran.

The result?

My extended forepaws crashed squarely into her, spinning her completely around as she fell. As she landed on her back she cried out with pain, and I drove my claws into her shoulders, pinning her down, trapping her beneath my greater weight. She struggled for a second, but realized it'd be useless, and she lay flat on her back, staring up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

Slowly, I leaned forward, drinking in the scent of her fear. The sack that contained Wuuthrad's fragments lay off just to one side, flung out of her grasp as she was knocked down. I could just seize the fragments and head back to Jorrvaskr. But the Bloodlust was thrumming in my mind and the wolf urged for me to make the killing bite, for me to taste the flesh of my victim and feel the warmth of her blood bathe my tongue. She was panting, fear edging her gasps, wide indigo eyes staring in terror up into my own dark bronze.

I softly snarled, my body trembling with the anticipation of the kill. With one claw, I pulled the cowl that covered her face down, knowing I wanted to see the features of my victim before I lunged for the killing blow, savouring the moment just a little longer.

She was a Dunmer, I saw in the halflight, which made me curious. Since when, I asked myself, did Dunmer have eyes that shimmered a delicate shade of pale violet or a dark indigo?

It didn't matter. Soon they wouldn't be flashing with terror, but glazed with death.

"You should not have done that, Elf," I growled with my own voice.

Her eyes widened with shock and recognition. Ah, so she remembered me as the one who found her. She would remember me as the one who killed her, too.

"Haven't you realized?" I sneered. "Thieves deserve to die. My Lord commands it. And I take great pleasure in it."

I drew back, and the wolf snarled, _May this teach you to never mess with the Companions._

The Elf, realizing what was to come, closed her eyes and turned away, unable to watch.

So preoccupied was I in my lunge that I failed to hear the sound of pounding horse hooves nearby, but I did hear the panicked scream that filled the air. "No!"

I spun around at the sound. The few seconds that passed seemed to be strangely slow. I saw every detail that occurred. I saw a horse gallop furiously up to where we stood, a rider swathed in dark leathers springing from the saddle, morphing in the moonshine, dark eyes glinting. By the time that she collided with me, throwing me off from the fallen Elf's body, she was a solid wolf, and I howled as claws tore into my shoulders, throwing me roughly from the thief. I rolled across the ground and snarled as the arrows were tugged out, and broke and splintered beneath my weight. My attacker landed on her paws and barked hoarsely in my direction and I scrambled to my paws, snarling savagely in response, our eyes flashing with rage.

_She is mine!_ The wolf within me howled.

_She is not!_ The offending creature growled, stepping back, placing herself between me and the thief.

I snapped my jaws in frustration. _This is not your business, moon-sister! Stay out of this!_

My assailant snarled in fury. _If you touch her again, Aela, so help me I will tear you into pieces!_

Wait...she knew my name?

I stiffened, my fur flattening, as a familiar smell entered my nostrils, and that was when I realized that the she-wolf who crouched nearby, lips drawn back to reveal her fangs, had eyes black and empty as a starless night. And when she saw the recognition flash across my face, she dropped her stance and said normally, "Look, I know you're confused right now, Aela, but I promise that I will explain! But you can't touch her!"

"Damn it, Alyssa, she's a thief!" I snarled, the wolf even affecting my own voice. I threw the Elf a look of great disgust, but I realized the thief wasn't even staring at me in total shock anymore. Instead, she was staring at Alyssa.

"What in Azura's name is going on?" she whispered huskily. "Alyssa...?"

Wait: the thief knew her, too?

Alyssa sighed, swinging her shaggy head around. "Damn it, Karliah, what have you done to anger her?"

Karliah. So that was the offender's name.

"I'll tell you what she did!" I snapped savagely before Karliah could answer. I nodded towards the sack and growled, "She was stealing the fragments of Wuuthrad!"

Alyssa's eyes rounded with shock at this, then her voice hardened. "Okay, yes, I can understand your anger a little more clearly now, Aela, but—"

"She is a thief!" I roared. "And thieves deserve to die!"

A strange expression crossed Alyssa's face, and she took one step forward.

"Then you'll have to kill me, too," she said quietly.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaand cliffhanger time! But no fear! The next chapter is already written: review review reviiieeww! And I shall post soon :)**


	60. Chapter 59 - Wolf, Horse & Nightingales

**A/N: Here it is, people! Chapter fifty-nine...nothin' much to say...but...may contain coarse language, I guess.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Nine

For a moment, there was complete silence between the three of us.

Then, Alyssa broke it, cautiously stepping back, ears flattened in submission but eyes flashing defiance. "Okay, Aela, I can explain—"

"I thought of you better," I growled, my fur bristling, and realization clicking into place. "I didn't realize that this was your job in Riften."

But Karliah now interrupted.

"Guildmaster, you know her?"

It took me a split second to work out what she had said. I spun around to stare at Alyssa in total disbelief.

"You—you're the _Guildmaster of the Riften Thieves Guild!?_"

"Aela, I said that I would explain—"

"You're damn right you need to explain!" I bellowed, realizing that shock was making me raise my voice in thunderous anger. Alyssa visibly flinched, but she flattened herself in full surrender, no longer challenging me, accepting my fury.

"I know that you're shocked and confused," she said quickly. "But I was going to tell you soon, I promised that I would. I didn't realize that I'd have to tell you like this." She glanced quickly back towards Karliah and added, "I know that you hate thieves. Who doesn't? But I can't let you kill my Guildmates. I can't, in particular, let you kill Karliah. I'm indebted to her. She saved my life once. Don't you remember me telling you the story?"

I frowned slightly, a distant memory working its way to the surface. "Snow Veil Sanctum."

"Yes. She's the one who nursed me back to health," Alyssa said, sounding slightly relieved that I could remember. Her dark eyes grew cautious now. "Can we please be civil about this? Yes, Karliah offended, but it might be easier if we start from the very beginning...in our human forms."

"She shot me four times. Like _hell_ I'm going to change back!" I spat.

"You were trying to kill me!" Karliah's eyes flashed with just as much defiance as I voiced anger. "What was I supposed to do? Lie down and become bait for you, Huntress?"

"You took Wuuthrad. You deserved to be punished!"

"It was my _job!_" Karliah snapped, struggling to sit up, but wincing as she did so. Obviously, I had driven my claws deeper than I intended to into her shoulders, and they were giving her some discomfort (and good riddance). "I couldn't shirk out on it."

I snarled aggressively. "You don't say. And who hands out the jobs?"

My eyes swept to Alyssa, in time to see her shake her head and frown, "Believe me, I didn't order this." She glanced, in total exasperation, at Karliah. "Damn it. Brynjolf tasked you with this, didn't he?"

"Of course he tasked me with it!" Karliah retorted. "You weren't around to discuss it with us."

Alyssa clapped a paw to her head. "Gods take that man. I said specifically _no Whiterun contracts._ He must've forgotten...did he, by any chance, give you the task of taking Wuuthrad after he tried to drink Vekel under the table?"

"Delvin," Karliah said. "And he was perfectly sober when he gave me the assignment the next morning."

I growled. "Alyssa, you had better explain yourself."

"Yes, yes, you're right. But please, yes, Karliah shot you, but if you saw a bloody big werewolf lumbering after you in the middle of nowhere wouldn't you try to defend yourself?" Alyssa retorted, a touch of irritation coming into her voice. Eventually, meeting my furious stare, she dipped her head in weary submission and growled, "Fine, stay that way. But I'm changing."

Karliah glanced at Alyssa, fully taking in her appearance for the first time. "By Azura, Alyssa. What have you become!?" she whispered, sounding completely horrified and startled at the same time.

"Long story," Alyssa said, her form shivering as the wolf receded. A few seconds later, the wolf was gone, and in its place stood Alyssa in her Nordic body, wearily brushing strands of black hair out from her eyes and kneeling beside Karliah, helping her sit up. "One, I think, we'd better both tell to Aela."

Karliah stared at Alyssa—her Guildmaster, I remembered with a touch of disgust. "You have got a lot of explaining to do to me and to her," she said softly, shaking her head. "Is this why you said no more Whiterun contracts? Because you're with...you're with the Companions, you're with _werewolves?_"

"Yes," Alyssa frowned. "There, see? You've discovered the secret. Now we should tell her our own."

My ears flicked forward. "_More_ secrets, I see, Alyssa."

"It was one I had to keep!" Alyssa snapped, growing defensive at once.

"And one that we should keep," scowled Karliah. "It's part of our Oath!"

"Oath?" I growled.

"Okay, please, just...calm down, stop, and let me do the talking," Alyssa said, fixing both me and Karliah with very stern gazes. "I will tell you everything I know, okay? Please, though, have a bit of peace."

Karliah and I, with difficulty, remained silent.

"Thank you," Alyssa said. "Now; where to begin?"

"You can tell me exactly why you're the Guildmaster of the Riften Thieves Guild, and why the hell you didn't tell me before," I snapped.

"Fair enough." Alyssa drew breath and said surprisingly calmly, "After I killed that giant in Pelagia Farm, I went to Riften and I became a part of the Riften Thieves Guild a couple of days later. Now I didn't join because I wanted the wealth. I joined because...well, because more than anything I needed a family."

"A family? If you had joined the Companions you would have had one!" I barked.

"I had my reasons!" Alyssa retorted heatedly. After a moment, she calmed down, and went on. "So the Thieves Guild became my family, Aela. More than that, they became my closest friends. Brynjolf was the first who welcomed me and introduced me to the Guild, and was one of my mentors."

"Mentors?" I echoed.

"In the ways of stealth," Alyssa responded. "Brynjolf taught me how to blend with the crowd, how to smooth-talk my way out of trouble and how to pickpocket—and no, I'm not ashamed to admit these abilities. Delvin Mallory, the Guild Third, and a man who could outdrink the twins if he ever got his lazy ass up to Whiterun, taught me how to sneak."

"When he was sober, that is," Karliah added.

Alyssa chuckled at some distant memory. "Too true. And Vex, an old childhood friend of mine and the Guild's best infiltrator, helped me master the skills of infiltration. Scaling buildings. Finding ways out of a sticky situation. Recognizing Shadowmarks. Lockpicking. Those sorts of things. Mercer Frey, the Guildmaster, taught me how to masterfully use the blade in combat, which proved pretty useful whenever I had to enter crypts and burrows swarming with Draugr."

I frowned slightly. "So they taught you the ways of the thief and the warrior."

"Mainly the thief," said Alyssa. "The Companions have taught me to really master the ways of the warrior. But the Thieves Guild became the family which I so badly needed." She paused, her eyes suddenly becoming shadowed. "The Thalmor didn't just ransack my farm, Aela, they destroyed my family at the same time."

Shock flashed through me. "Why?"

"Long story, and I don't have the time to tell it, because you're going to be asking a _hell_ of a lot of questions. But I met Karliah when I woke up outside Snow Veil Sanctum after my Guildmaster betrayed me and ran me through with his sword. She saved my life." Alyssa and Karliah shared a fond glance. "When we got back to the Guild, she was my closest friend, the sister to me when I lost Zara."

"Zara?" I echoed.

"My sister...well, my deceased sister," Alyssa said quietly. "The Thalmor...didn't take prisoners..."

"Oh."

"It's not important; she's in Sovngarde now," Alyssa replied quietly. "But Karliah...I couldn't let you hurt her, because she's my Guild Sister, and as well as that, she's my friend. We've been through so bloody much together..."

She sighed. "Okay, listen, Aela. You remember what happened that night I became a werewolf?"

I frowned slightly, recollecting the memory.

"I hesitated, remember? I asked what would happen if I became entrusted to Hircine as well as Nocturnal."

Karliah got the gist quicker than I did. "You're promised to another Daedric Prince?" she asked, shocked.

"Werewolves are Hircine's Hounds," Alyssa told her, and sighed in complete exhaustion. "And yep, before you ask, Karliah, I am meant to go to the Hunting Grounds when I die. Nocturnal probably isn't the happiest with me at the moment..."

"Alyssa, that's really dangerous!" Karliah protested, almost angrily, though mostly fearfully. "You made a contract with Nocturnal, you sealed your soul and promised to spend your death serving her in Evergloam. You can't back out of one of Nocturnal's contracts!"

I stared at Alyssa. "You're already in _deathbound_ service to another Daedric Prince!?"

"Yes," Alyssa said. "So in truth, you and Karliah aren't so different."

I spun around to stare at Karliah. "_She's_ enthralled to a Prince, too!?"

"Hardly surprising in your case, _Huntress_," Karliah said scathingly.

I growled, lashing my tail. "That must explain the Daedric magic on you that I detected." I turned sharply to Alyssa. "Explain. All of it."

"Alyssa, you mustn't betray us!" Karliah said warningly to her.

"I highly doubt that Aela will betray us," Alyssa told her firmly. "And I don't give a damn how the Princes treat me. They'll find me very hard to tame." Turning back to me before Karliah could say another word, she said, "Me, Karliah, and Brynjolf, my deputy...we're Nightingales."

My jaw fell open. "I thought they were a myth!"

"No, we're real, all right," Alyssa said, frowning slightly. "And we're an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild. We want to _remain_ anonymous, if you catch my meaning."

"I catch it, all right," I scowled. "But I'm not sure I want to keep you anonymous."

"Please, Aela." Alyssa's eyes were pleading. "I became a Nightingale of Nocturnal because I needed her luck in hunting and killing Mercer." She laughed mirthlessly and said, "I think she must've sensed my reluctance at first. I didn't have _terribly_ much luck when I faced my old Guildmaster. He ran me through and left me for dead, again, in Irkngthand, and was on his way to kill Karliah when I recovered enough to shoot him through with Karliah's Nightingale Bow." She jerked her head over her shoulder and said, "That's it there, for future reference."

For the first time, I noticed Alyssa's horse, and felt myself recoil in shock. It was a mighty black stallion, dark as death, and there was no mistaking it; the eyes of the horse glowed a shocking blood red. The creature turned to me and flicked one ear disdainfully, looking unnervingly unfazed by my wolfish appearance. Meeko, I saw, crouched near the horse's legs, eyeing me with a cautious expression. A gleaming bow, I saw, was strapped to the horse's bulging saddlebags—black, with touches of silver, and the insignia of a bird, wings raised in flight and the moon above its head.

"And before you ask," Alyssa interrupted, "that's Shadowmere. I have a feeling you've realized I haven't left on Warrior."

"Why didn't you tell me you owned a second horse?"

"There wasn't any need to; I only use Shadowmere when I have real need of him," Alyssa said. The horse suddenly turned an unblinking stare to Alyssa, and she suddenly shook her head and said, "Don't be ridiculous; I've had plenty of need for you, and that's only when I've actually been your mistress for these past crazy weeks."

The horse suddenly jerked his head back and snorted, and Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Can we continue this conversation later? I'm in the middle of a confession here."

If I wasn't mistaken, I saw the horse bob his head and nicker, as though laughing to her words. And this time, I wasn't alone in my confusion.

"Guildmaster...are you...?" Karliah began uncertainly.

Alyssa waved her question away. "Yes, I am. Now, back to business; I had to kill Mercer partly because of revenge, and partly because Nocturnal wanted her Skeleton Key returned. Yes, Aela, it is real—most Daedric artifacts are. And the Key is a pretty crazy-shit artifact when it's in the wrong hands. I hated holding the thing because it unlocked...a _lot_ of barriers, and not just in me. So I returned it, and then the worst thing happened; I actually met Nocturnal."

"She appeared to you?" I asked, astonished. "In the same way that Hircine manifested...?"

"No, not as an aspect—as a _real_ manifestation," Alyssa told me, tiredly. "I hardly doubted she was impressed with me. To be truthful, I wasn't with her. Too bloody proud."

"That's what to be expected from the Night Mistress," frowned Karliah. "You should be lucky that you survived such a conversation." She closed her eyes and shivered. "I doubt that I would."

"That's what I hate about the Daedra; they have absolutely no idea of mercy," Alyssa said, and she turned pointedly to me. "And _that_, Aela, is why I dislike them, and why I pissed fourteen of them off, seriously. Nocturnal was pissed with me enough as it was, and Hircine just found me and my antics of annoying him amusing."

Karliah looked anxious. "Alyssa, Nocturnal wasn't—"

"She was, Karliah, and don't bother denying it," Alyssa said sharply. "I don't respect Nocturnal in the same way that you do. I wasn't born to be a Nightingale, I just happened to be there to fill the Trinity. I don't look up to the Daedra in the same way that Dunmer do. I think you should understand that."

Karliah slowly nodded. "I...I suppose. But _what_ are you going to do when you die, Alyssa? You're already promised to three planes, and I only know that many. It's bad enough when someone is promised to two alone!"

"I know where I'm going when I die, but I hope to live for several years longer," Alyssa said curtly. "However, I'm growing distracted." She turned sharply back to me and shrugged. "So there you have it, Aela. A full explanation on my job in Riften. I'm the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild now, mainly because Brynjolf claimed he wasn't a leader and nor was Karliah. I have been Guildmaster for over a year, and so far, I have not regretted my job."

I scowled. "You should."

"Yes, I know I should," Alyssa frowned. "I did cause Skyrim much grief, thieving this, thieving that, getting the Guild's reputation and treasury box filled up again. I did most of the grievances affecting Whiterun in particular." She sighed. "Okay, time to come completely clean with you about my thieving background. I was the one who ran Honningbrew out of business, set fire to Goldenglow Estate, broke a man out of Whiterun's prison and generally stole a lot of items from the locals."

"Ah," I said drily. "You realize that Kodlak, Skjor and I were summoned multiple times to Dragonsreach last year because of what you were doing to Whiterun?"

"I hardly doubted Jarl Balgruuf wouldn't notice," Alyssa said, tiredly. "That was, after all, how I was tasked with finding the Dragonstone."

"You were trying to rob Balgruuf?" I demanded angrily.

"No." Alyssa sighed. "Nocturnal's 'luck' failed me right then and there, at the worst time. I was just coming out of a house with a certain item in my possession when a guardsman caught me, and took me up to Dragonsreach." She laughed bitterly. "I would've spent several long and tiresome days in the cells if it weren't for me and my big fat mouth. I told Balgruuf that I was a survivor of Helgen. And he realized that he might be of some use to Farengar, who, after sending multiple mercenaries up to Bleak Falls Barrow, had not yet recovered his precious Dragonstone."

"The one time that Alyssa failed a general burglary job," Karliah added, and she actually grinned at this. "You should've seen Vex's face when she found this out. She would've scorched Alyssa so bad if she had been around."

"But I wasn't," said Alyssa. "I was pretty busy."

She drew breath. "Well. That's one confession out of the way, and that's to you, Aela. Still think that thieves deserve to die?"

"Yes. She stole fragments of Wuuthrad. It took decades of finding the pieces, tracking them down and recovering them," I said, glowering. "Not to mention that Karliah tried very hard to kill _me_..."

"I didn't want to be torn apart by a bloody daughter of Hircine!" snapped Karliah.

"I'm not talking about the damned arrows, I'm talking about your foul magic!" I snarled.

Alyssa stared at the two of us, and then she turned with a sigh back to Karliah. "All right, what happened?"

"The Huntress chased me out into the courtyard. It was only self-defense that I used the powers of Subterfuge."

"Ooh shit..."

I glared at Karliah. "You blinded me with Daedric magic!"

"And the funny thing is that you resisted," Karliah retorted, and there was a note of confusion and even respect in her voice. "The last I know, only a Nightingale can really resist the effects of Daedric magic."

"Yeah, maybe because I've got a bit of Daedric magic in me?" I growled, bristling and pacing to prove my point.

Karliah's eyes travelled warily over my wolfish form. "...Right...a lifebound and deathbound servant of a Prince, rather like the Nightingales, only you call yourself mutts..."

"Hounds," I snarled furiously. "Sons and daughters of the moon!"

"Yeah...you may want to treat Aela with a little more respect, Karliah," Alyssa murmured warningly. "She's a little more than moonborn. She's also a champion of Hircine."

Karliah was startled. "Like you?"

"Yeah. Only Aela embraced that choice."

"My life is for hunting." I flattened my ears. "And the Jarl of Whiterun also gave me permission to hunt down thieves."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," sighed Alyssa. "I've already told you why."

I growled in frustration, lashing my tail.

"Fine," I spat. "The Nightingale, Dunmer, whatever the hell she is—can go, when we're finished."

Karliah looked at me with equal disdain. "Be glad to get out of your fur, _wolf_." She glanced back at Alyssa and said, "I can't believe that you deserted the Guild for people like _them_, Alyssa. You have any idea how worried some of us have been? Vex was planning to do something to piss you off just to bring you back to the Cistern! You haven't even so much as contacted us in _weeks!_"

"Tell her to save her energy," Alyssa said curtly. "However, Aela's promised to keep our secret of being Nightingales. You have to promise to keep our secret of being lycanthropes."

Karliah sighed. "Tell me how you became a bloody werewolf, Alyssa."

"I...chose to, in a way," Alyssa said. "Mainly because it was part of me becoming a member of the Circle. And before you ask, Sister, only members of the Circle are werewolves. It's been that way for a long, long time, since Terrfyg, one of Kodlak's old predecessors."

"Wait, hell no...Kodlak Whitemane is a _werewolf_, too?"

"He has been, for a while, but he doesn't like it too much, if that's any consolidation to you," Alyssa retorted smartly. "I'm on a mission at the moment concerning this. I'm on my way to finally get it done now."

"Where were you all this time?" I asked her. "You seemed to be coming back from being up north."

"Business in Dawnstar," said Alyssa. To Karliah, she added, "So yes, I'm a member of the Circle now, and I've been a werewolf for almost a month now. Feel free to tell the others that. Another thing; if anyone's got anything silver on them, please tell them to throw the f!cking things out."

"Why?"

"Silver is potentially lethal to the beastblood, thanks, and I've spent the past three weeks hunting down the organization who uses silver a _lot_," said Alyssa. "They're a bit like vigilantes but they're hardcore shit towards werewolves in particular, calling themselves the Silver Hand. No need to explain why."

Karliah looked dazed for a moment, but then slowly nodded. "All right."

"Are you sure it's wise telling this thief of our weaknesses?" I interrupted.

"I trust them with my life," Alyssa scowled. "Particularly Karliah, who feels that my life is obviously worth something if she sacrificed a poison to save me."

"One that took a year to perfect," Karliah added under her breath.

"...I'm not going to ask what in Oblivion you mean by using a poison to save you," I said, realizing that I really was growing quite tired of this conversation that I felt as though was opening up more questions than answers. "But I have to know that I can trust Karliah on this."

"Take the fragments back, then," Karliah said, stiffly pushing herself to her feet, and Alyssa concernedly helping her friend up. I calmly reared onto my hind legs. "I still don't know why we had the idea of such a heist, anyway. Didn't realize that a Prince was watching over the Companions as one did over the Thieves Guild."

"The Circle knows of our beastblood," I scowled. "But none of our whelps."

"None of our other Brothers or Sisters know about us being Nightingales, either," Karliah said. "So I'll make this very clear, Huntress. If you don't go spilling our secrets, I won't go around spilling yours. I respect my Guildmaster too much."

"Thank you," Alyssa said, with a slight dip of her head. Meeko, sensing that the immediate tension was over, trotted over to genially thump his tail against Alyssa's and Karliah's legs.

The Dunmer thief smiled as she bent down and petted Meeko's head.

"Fine," I said, reluctantly reining in the wolf for this, and cursing as my wounds became more painful and prominent, particularly the wound at my throat. When my transformation was over, and I was standing normally again in front of Karliah, I said, "I suppose that's all I can use for evidence at the moment. However, should I discover that even one thing in Whiterun has been 'misplaced'..."

"I'll try and journey down to Riften soon," Alyssa said. "Have a little word with Bryn."

"Why don't you come down now?" Karliah asked impatiently. "You know Bryn gets mad if you don't visit every now and then. The last time we saw you was at the beginning of First Seed, in the Sepulcher, and then you ran back off to the Companions. Bryn thought you were crazy."

"They're a family to me now, Karliah," Alyssa told me, and she threw me a glance as she added, "Aela is like my sister to me, just as you are, and one of my closest friends. I have a duty to Whiterun now as much as I do to Riften and to the Guild. Particularly with our war against the Silver Hand. One of my Circle-Brothers died recently and Aela and I are determined to wipe out every last bloody member of the Silver Hand because of it. Speaking of which, if you and Bryn wouldn't mind trying to find out any remaining locations and then contacting Aela through courier or carrier hawk, it'd be much appreciated."

Karliah sighed. "I'll see what I can do, Guildmaster. But when do you think you'll be back to see us?"

Alyssa chuckled. "Actually, Karliah, I was on my way back to Riften now."

Karliah was startled. "You were?"

"Yes. I need some renovations up in Dawnstar," said Alyssa. She paused thoughtfully. "But perhaps it was fortunate I bumped into you in the end. You're heading back to the Guild, yes? When you get back, speak to Del for me. It concerns my third family—he'll know what I mean." She headed over to Shadowmere's saddlebags and pulled out what I recognized to be a very large bag of coin. Karliah and I were stumped.

"In here is twenty thousand septims," Alyssa told us—well, she more told Karliah, but I think she knew I was listening. "Please don't ask me where I got it, Aela, I'll tell you when I get back from Glenmoril. Take Shadowmere, Karliah, and head back to Riften and give the money to Del and tell him to fix up Dawnstar's secret, completely. If he needs extra money I'll give it to him when I make the journey back, but if not, let him keep whatever change there is. Might help him pay off his debt with Vekel. How much is it now?"

"I believe, eight hundred and thirty-six septims," remarked Karliah.

"Right. Drunken lunatic..." Alyssa shook her head fondly, and then slipped the sack of money back into Shadowmere's saddlebags and fondly petted the black horse. "Right, you: Karliah's riding you, got it? You aren't to throw her off, dump her in the river, run vertically up a mountain or do whatever the heck it is you do to any other who tries to ride you. Got it?"

The horse twitched one ear. Alyssa unexpectedly folded her arms and said warningly, "_Shadowmere_..."

The horse nickered sulkily.

"And don't bother trying to use your methods of moving alternately, either; Karliah's one with the shadows, so I doubt it'd have the same effect on her as it would with another person," Alyssa added sternly. "But stay around in the Rift for a while when you get there. I'll use Warrior for methods of transportation." Turning to Karliah she added, with a sardonic wave, "My friend, this is my mount, Shadowmere. He has promised not to try and throw you off him."

"Charmed..." Karliah said uncertainly.

"Uh...please do _not_ tell me that you can talk to your animals now," I said, half-groaning.

Alyssa gave me a sheepish smile. "I talk to all of them," she said. "But Shadowmere's the only one who can talk back."

"I don't hear him saying anything."

If I wasn't mistaken, the horse suddenly turned around and glared at me full in the face—and the only other time a dark-skinned, red-eye creature glares at me is if I've pissed a Dunmer off. Well, a red-eyed Dunmer. So it was pretty strange having a _horse_ doing it to you. But he actually did look quite ferocious.

"There's a certain way that we talk," Alyssa told me. "I'll tell you about it when I get back, okay? In the meantime..." She handed the reins to Karliah. "You two have fun. You okay to ride? Don't tell me Aela clawed you that badly..."

"I'm more or less all right," Karliah said, unable to resist throwing me a glare in passing.

I snorted. "I barely touched you, _thief_."

"And I barely showed you what a Nightingale does to wolves," Karliah responded icily, swinging herself into the saddle, and handing Alyssa down the Bow, and a quiver of arrows which I hadn't noticed fastened to the saddlehorn earlier. Alyssa nodded her thanks and slipped both over her shoulders.

"Ride safely," Alyssa said earnestly to Karliah. "And have a word with Bryn about Whiterun, will you?"

"I'll see what I can do," Karliah said, pulling the hood and the cowl up over her face and grasping Shadowmere's reins. "And Alyssa...good luck with the witches. About time someone put them down."

Alyssa nodded. "Thanks. See you soon, Kar."

"You too, Allie."

Then the thief had urged Shadowmere into a trot and the black horse soon burst into a loping canter, racing over the grass and towards the road. It took a lot of willpower to restrain the wolf within me from chasing her, but I couldn't resist a growl.

Alyssa glanced at me. "You're going to tell Kodlak, aren't you?"

I sighed, turning back to her. "Not if you don't want me to."

Relief flashed across Alyssa's face. "Thank you."

"But only if you promise to tell me about your other jobs, okay? The ones in Falkreath and Winterhold."

"Not Falkreath anymore," said Alyssa. "Dawnstar, now...probably not for much longer, though." She nervously smiled. "See? That's a start, isn't it?"

"I suppose, _Guildmaster_."

Alyssa winced at the dislike in my voice. "Look, I know it doesn't bode well with you, but please, the Guild became my family to me after I lost my own to the merciless flames of the Thalmor. And I am proud to be a thief. I'm close to every single member. They're just as spirited, friendly and close-knit as the Companions are, and they respect me as their leader. I love them as I would love any Brother and Sister."

I sighed. "I suppose I can't argue with that."

Alyssa smiled. "Thank you for understanding. I will tell you about my other jobs, I promise. But I've got to help Kodlak now."

I nodded. "And about time, I think."

Meeko barked.

"Yes, we've been busy, that's all," Alyssa sighed. "But I'm ready to move through Falkreath now. I'll head back to Whiterun and get Warrior and then I'll head off."

"You won't even stop by in Jorrvaskr?"

"I told Kodlak I wouldn't return until I had the witches' heads. And I'll be fine; recently transforming has given me energy," Alyssa said earnestly. "So I'll be off at once. I want to try and head back as soon as possible. But I have confidence that Karliah will contact you soon. We're very good at finding things, you know."

"I'd have guessed so, you being thieves and all. But if Karliah helps us in the fight against the Silver Hand..." I headed over and picked up the sack that contained the shards of Wuuthrad. "...then I may forgive her for the little episode with the fragments."

Alyssa was looking oddly thoughtful, before she turned to me and said, "You know...I've just realized that you two have something in common. Quite a few things in common, actually."

"We have nothing in common," I growled.

"You do," Alyssa pressed. "You're both master archers, for example."

Ruefully I rubbed the arrowhead wound near my throat. It throbbed slightly, but it'd heal, maybe even without the need of medicine.

"You're both ferociously devoted to your deity—her of thieving, and you of hunting," Alyssa added. Her eyes grew shadowed again and she said, "Not to mention that you both experienced the same grief..."

I glanced at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Karliah...well...she was...a lover of Mercer's predecessor," Alyssa said quietly. "Gallus. That was his name. Gallus Desidenius. She gave him her heart and he gave her his...rather, I believe, with you and Skjor."

I was quiet. "I never realized."

"Nobody but the Guild," Alyssa confirmed softly. "And she watched him die, at the hands of someone we thought a friend once." Almost angrily she shook her head. "Gods-damn it, Mercer was like a father to me. Stern, barely ever smiling, all about business, but a bloody good teacher. Of course, the warm feeling to him vanished after I realized that he was Gallus's murderer, and almost mine. I wasn't sure what to feel when I killed him, after he almost killed me. It was only by the grace of the Gods that I survived the wound he delivered next, in Irkngthand."

She looked me full in the face and said, "Do you...do you know what it feels like, Aela? To watch someone you love, die before your eyes?"

An ancient but unforgettable memory of Kagrenzel worked its way up to the surface, and I swallowed back a fresh wave of sorrow. "Yes," I confessed. "I watched a Shield-Sister...I was beside her when she..."

Alyssa was very quiet, before she murmured, "Who was she?"

"A Bosmer. Eiwen. She saved my life, with her last breath...she saved Orgmund and Skjor, too..."

"I'm so sorry..."

"Not to mention Endain..."

Alyssa's brow creased slightly. "Who?"

"He was a whelp in Jorrvaskr. Bright, energetic, overly-humble. He and Ria were quite good friends." My voice grew bitter. "Then Uthgerd came and wanted to join the Companions. She already knew how to fight, so we set her against Endain, knowing he'd lose, to see if she would know how to pity and how to show mercy to a defeated opponent. Defeat does not always mean death! But in her case..."

Alyssa was very quiet.

"He died quickly. Hopefully with as little pain as possible." I shook my head slightly. "He's in Sovngarde now, I'm sure. Only seventeen. Poor kid."

"Uthgerd's changed, you know," Alyssa commented.

I glanced at her. "How would you know?"

"I do," Alyssa said. "I spoke with her in the Bannered Mare. She sounded truly regretful that she killed the young whelp. I think she understands mercy pretty well now. I took her out with me once when I was heading to the Reach and she let two Forsworn who pleaded mercy escape."

"...It does sound like she's changed."

"She has. She serves an honourable cause now, where her battle-rage is well-channeled." Alyssa sighed quietly and added, "it seems like you, me and Karliah all have our fair share of loss in our lives..."

I shrugged. "I suppose." Then I frowned. "It's rather hard to believe, though...you with the infamous Thieves Guild."

"It was where I was meant to be," Alyssa replied simply. "And you needn't worry about them coming back to Whiterun. I think they'll get the message, with me being angry with them as it is."

"But there's something I don't understand; Karliah and Brynjolf knew you were with the Companions before Karliah was even assigned to get the fragments of Wuuthrad," I said. "They'd know that sending her to Jorrvaskr would obviously make you angry...at least, that's what I'd hope..."

"Your hopes are not dashed."

"Good to hear. But why send Karliah there anyway?"

"Because unfortunately Brynjolf has a habit of being forgetful after a hangover," Alyssa said, rolling her eyes. "And trust me, I know _exactly_ what it's like to be forgetful after a hangover..."

"You meaning?"

Alyssa let out a bout of bark-like laughter, as she, Meeko and I began to make our way on foot back towards Whiterun. "It concerns a Daedric Prince—Sanguine, in particular. Anyway, when I walked into Riften's Bee & Barb a month or so after becoming a member of the Thieves Guild, there was this man called Sam and he challenged me to a drinking contest—and like the idiot I was, it wasn't long before I took him up on that offer..."

And very soon, even the wolf had forgotten its anger and was laughing alongside me.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, first thing: I don't know for fact how much Delvin's debt amounts to. Secondly, yes! Vex and Alyssa knew each other when they were children and were very close friends and had a happy scene of reuniting when Alyssa joined the Thieves Guild. And 'Allie' is Alyssa's nickname, in case you're wondering. Pure coincidence that it is the same as Queen Alfsigr's...**

**And Alyssa gave Vex the name 'Vixen', if you're wondering if Vex had a nickname too. SHE DOES!**

**Thank you for being patient with the cliffhanger, review as always, and I've made a mental note to try and update The Broken Prophecy soon...**


	61. Chapter 60 - Closing In

**A/N: And here we are again, loyal readers! Thank you for the patient wait - and here we have it...we're making progress (gasp) but I'll have to squeeze something important into the next chapter, I'm afraid. More time to elaborate on things that need to be elaborated on. In the meantime, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Sixty

Warrior looked more than happy to be reunited with his mistress again. Alyssa collected her gear from the side of his stall and began to equip him up. If I wasn't quite mistaken, the horse looked eager to get into his saddle and reins, opening his mouth and leaning forward when she proffered the bit, holding his head remarkably still as she fastened the reins around his large, boxy and grizzled head, shifting position slightly as she pulled up the girth.

Seeing my confusion and hesitant caution, Alyssa let out a bout of bark-like laughter and said, "Worried that Warrior's going to start talking to me in the way that Shadowmere can?"

I sniffed. "Obviously."

"You needn't worry. Warrior can't talk-talk, but...he's quite smart. He just lets me know if it's too tight or not."

"He's climbing _into_ his gear. Most horses don't do that."

"So he's the exception." Alyssa batted large, innocent black eyes at me.

I glanced down at Meeko, who was wagging his tail gaily and his tongue lolling out one corner of his jaw. "And your dog? Is he an 'exception', as you call it, as well?"

Alyssa spared a glance at her dog. "What do you say to that, boy?"

Meeko barked.

"There you go," she replied, turning with stunning indifference back to tightening Warrior's girth.

I stared at her. "What?"

"Oh come on, we're both dogs," said Alyssa tartly. "Surely you can understand what Meeko just said?"

After a pause, Alyssa turned pointedly back to Meeko and said, "Repeat what you said."

Meeko barked. Again.

Then Alyssa laughed, perhaps catching the expression on my face. "Oh, now that is just _priceless_," she giggled, stifling her humour with difficulty. "I can't understand what Meeko's saying _exactly_ any more than you can, nor can I make sense of Warrior's assortment of horsy snorts and whinnies."

I struggled to compose myself. "So why is this Shadowmere different?"

Alyssa shrugged. "He just is. He's...well, a more or less supernatural horse."

"The red eyes...?" I prompted pointedly.

"Yeah...like that." Alyssa tucked the end of the girth amongst the other straps and pulled the reins a little further over Warrior's shoulders.

"You mentioned alternate ways of travelling, concerning Shadowmere," I said, pressing the point as much as I could.

"Yeah..." Alyssa swung under Warrior's belly and straightened up on his other side. "He can travel fairly unusually...for a horse. Has this power where he can..." she paused, frowning in thought, then said, "...become one with the shadows, I guess."

"He can turn into shadow?"

"Not really shadow...more like darkness. I just call it shadow because I don't know what else to call it." Alyssa shrugged, looking perplexed herself, before she swung herself up and onto Warrior's back. The horse lifted his head and his ears flicked forward, and he looked as though he was about to leap the gate and go charging out into battle. Meeko half-crouched, his tail wagging furiously, equally as eager to go.

"How the _hell_ did you manage to get a horse like him, then?" I demanded, slightly overwhelmed, and stepping back to allow Alyssa to walk Warrior from his stall, Meeko bounding eagerly at their heels. "I can hardly imagine you just finding him in the stables waiting for you..."

Alyssa smiled vaguely. "I was given him, as...well, I suppose a 'gift', but at the time it was more business, and then I just ended up using him more often. I had to find a rogue and kill him, and to do so, I had to get there _fast_."

"Warrior wasn't enough, then?"

"Not then," Alyssa conceded. "Warrior obviously wasn't happy when I got myself onto Shadowmere's back instead of his. Particularly as he had never seen Shadowmere in his life." She patted her stallion's neck in a reassuring manner. "But Shadowmere, I admit, _was_ fast. Fast like _hell_. As a result I was able to find and kill the rogue before he could hurt anyone else. He was running around trying to kill my friends in Falkreath." She sighed and shook her head. "He's dealt with nonetheless. Boy, did Sheogorath have his hold on that one..."

"Have you served Sheogorath before?" I asked, cautiously.

Alyssa looked half-amused and half-defensive. "Hey, I didn't know that the slightly-deraved man minus his master was actually the luggage of a Daedric Prince! You remember how sometimes I just...was dropped into serving one?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Like Sanguine."

She grinned. "Yes, like Sanguine. By far, my most exhausting slash humiliating adventure yet."

She looked back towards Whiterun. "Damn. I've been away for a while, haven't I? From Jorrvaskr. Give my regards to Kodlak and the twins, right?"

"Of course." I tapped the bag, containing the stolen fragments of Wuuthrad. "And this...?"

Alyssa looked grave. "You can say that they were stolen, if they ask or notice," she said. "But for her own safety, I'd ask her not to mention the stealer's name."

"Why shouldn't I?" I challenged.

"You keep your mouth shut, she'll keep hers shut," Alyssa frowned sternly. "And I'm speaking to you not as a Circle-Sister but as Guildmaster. Remember that the Thieves Guild have my back."

"Is that a threat?"

"Not at all, I respect you too much for that. But the others may not. In the meantime, I had better get myself over to Falkreath Hold and kill those Gods-damned Glenmoril witches. Maybe then Kodlak can have a bit of peace at the thought of going to Sovngarde when he dies." For a moment, her eyes grew unusually wistful, as though remembering something, before she snapped out of her reverie and glanced down at me. "I'll be back very soon, okay? Within a few days, at the most."

"You'd better be," I said, crossing my arms.

"No delays," Alyssa promised. "Not even if Nocturnal summons me. As far as I care, she can go talk it out with Hircine if she's less than happy...hardly surprising, she's a Prince, and not one of my favourites."

"You have favourites?"

"Yes. Ones who actually have a valid reason for being all high-mighty-superior over mortals." Alyssa rolled her eyes pointedly at the sky and then dug her heels into Warrior's flanks. The great grey stallion surged forward, huge heavy hooves pounding on the stones. Meeko barked excitedly and rapidly bounded after them.

I stood for a while, watching them race over Whiterun Hold, growing smaller and smaller in the early hours of predawn, until they disappeared entirely from view.

Only then did I comment, "In your eyes, Hircine doesn't have a valid reason, does he?"

With a sigh, I turned back and started heading back up to Whiterun, wondering if the others were already awake by now. My hands hovered over the head of the wolf amulet—I was tempted to try and contact Hircine, perhaps to thank him for protecting me against the blinding coil of Daedric magic that Karliah had cast over me, or some other lame and rubbish excuse.

But I lowered my fingers upon realizing that Hircine would probably be less than pleased with me at the moment. He told me to kill Karliah, and I didn't, for Alyssa's sake.

Shit. She was already not his favourite. And now she was going to kill Glenmoril witches—creatures who had faithfully served Hircine for millennia.

I whirled around, suddenly alarmed. What if...what if she didn't return from the caverns? Had I just watched her ride to her own death? Those witches...I can only imagine what kinds of Earth Magic they'd use. Shit, shit, shit. I really needed Derrick and Aileen's advice now, more than anything.

But they were far away in High Rock. No use to me whatsoever.

My mind whirling, I turned away from the mountains—praying that Alyssa's stubbornness would get her home safely and victorious, with both her animals at her side.

* * *

By the time that I entered Jorrvaskr again the sun was just beginning to rise, but I could see that nearly all the Companions were awake, staring in a mixture of disbelief and rage at where the fragments of Wuuthrad were mounted.

"They're gone!" Farkas's voice, raised in rage, carried very clearly throughout the hall.

"We've spent _decades_ finding those pieces!" growled Vilkas, just as enraged as his brother. "Who the _hell_ stole them?"

"Aela, have you heard the news?" Oh, finally, somebody notices I'm back. Vignar Gray-Mane glanced at me, a look of incredulous irritation written all over his face. "Somebody's taken Wuuthrad!"

"Were you out night-hunting again?" Now the other Companions were noticing my presence and Njada's attention was focused on the sack I was holding in my hand. "Did you see any stranger leaving Jorrvaskr?"

"I wasn't night-hunting," I told them. "And peace—I found the thief, and recovered the fragments." I held up the sack, depositing them into Njada's hands. She stared at the sack for a second, as did everyone. Then she opened the top, and stared inside, before reaching in and pulling out one of the fragments.

A sigh of relief went up around the Companions. "Good work, Huntress," Vignar praised me.

"Are all the pieces there?" asked Vilkas, scowling.

"Yes...they're all here..." Njada finished searching through the sack and headed over towards the near-empty display. Ria accompanied her, eager to help her replace the pieces of Wuuthrad.

And now I was the centre of attention.

"Who was the thief?" asked Athis, his crimson eyes flashing fire. I was strongly reminded of Ornith then and there. "Was it a member of the Thieves Guild?"

"They're gaining power again in Skyrim—I'm not surprised if it were," Farkas reflected.

I hesitated, only for a moment. I had already told Alyssa that I wasn't to mention her affiliation with the Guild. She had asked me not to mention Karliah's name to the Companions. Keep the lips on both sides sealed.

Fine. I could at least tell them as much as I was permitted to say. "Yes, she was," I told them.

Their eyes narrowed in rage—but Athis's face was, to my surprise, quite calm, though his eyes glittered icily. " 'She'?" he echoed, almost disbelievingly.

"The thief was a woman," I confirmed. "A Dunmer." I could say that much, and I measured Athis's reaction. "She knows not to come back to Whiterun again," I assured the Companions.

Farkas's face was locked in a scowl. "If she does..."

_Not here!_ I warned him silently. But I was caught off-guard by something that Athis said next:

"Are you sure that the Dunmer was female?"

By now, the gathered Companions were looking at Athis with more than curiosity written on their faces—including myself. "What are you implying, Athis?" asked Torvar, frowning just slightly. "Don't you believe Aela's word?"

Athis shrugged. "No, no...course I believe you." He glanced at me, before he continued. "But...well, a while ago, there was...a similar incident, here in Jorrvaskr. Involving—partially involving my kinsmen."

There was a pause. Eventually, I said, "What do you mean?"

Athis looked at me, Farkas and Vilkas. "You remember Ornith, right?"

"Of course we do," Vilkas said at once. "We're hardly going to forget the legacy your uncle left in the hall."

_Not anytime soon,_ I agreed. Even now, all these years on, I missed him. "What about him?" I asked.

Athis looked thoughtful. "Well...my uncle, Ornith, he was a younger whelp in Jorrvaskr at the time, but...when he was with the Companions—in Leiknir's rule, and before the Great War even began—Jorrvaskr was nearly robbed."

"By the Thieves Guild?" Vignar was getting the gist quicker than I was.

Athis nodded. "Ornith got woken up by movement upstairs. He headed up, in time to see a thief almost try and make off with a goblet that would've definitely fetched several septims in the market."

"Not a fragment of Wuuthrad?" asked Vilkas.

Athis shook his head. "Though there was a good chance that the thief might've made off with it if given the chance. However, Ornith caught the thief in the act. He made off at once, though. Ornith pursued him. Caught up to him at the Skyforge, and engaged the man in combat."

"Did Ornith kill the thief?" I asked, surprised that Ornith had once had a run-in with the Guild. Not once in the years I had known him had he mentioned it.

Athis's eyes were somewhat cautious now. "No—because Ornith's uncle stopped him."

It didn't take us long for us to put the hints together. And when we did, the reaction was somewhat explosive.

"Your great-uncle was affiliated with the Thieves' Guild?" Torvar asked in a mixture of stunned disbelief and barely-concealed disgust.

I was stunned. "Who was he?"

"Sranys," said Athis, with a frown. "His name was Sranys. He was always...a little distant, with the family. But he was close with Ornith and Nava in particular."

Nava. Ornith's sister, and Athis's mother.

"How come Ornith never said anything of the sort?" Vilkas wondered aloud.

"Who would want to say that their uncle's involved with the Thieves Guild?" Athis challenged in return, his eyes blazing. "But Sranys was a member of the Guild. Ornith probably would've chopped the thief's head off—come to think of it, I think his name was Gallus or something—if Sranys hadn't stopped him just in time."

Gallus...? Wait...Gallus? Could it be the same, the man who was a lover of Karliah? _By the Gods...seems that Karliah and I have more in common than I thought..._

"So that's why you thought that the thief was a male Dunmer," I reflected. "You thought it was your great-uncle."

Athis nodded.

"But...the Red Mountain exploded two hundred years ago," frowned Vignar. "How long do you Dunmer live for?"

"Long enough," said Athis, with a shrug. "But Ornith was only a kid when the Red Mountain went up in smoke and fire. My mother told me and Irileth the stories about how she and Ornith only survived thanks to Sranys's tales. Seemed my uncle knew the Companions' legacies quite well, but great-uncle Sranys was always a survivor. It was thanks to him that Ornith and Nava ever made it off Vvardenfell and got into Narsis. They started scraping for a living there, and were moderately successful for about one hundred and fifty years."

It never occurred to me how old Ornith ever was, not once, while he was with the Companions. But now the truth was hitting me. "Wait...when did Ornith join the Companions, exactly?"

"Uncle Ornith said that two Companions found him in Morrowind and helped him and Mother survive," Athis reflected thoughtfully. "Leiknir Silver-Bane and Taija. He went back to Jorrvaskr with them. Stayed with them ever since."

"Then that means Ornith was with the Companions for...almost half a century?" Farkas sounded disbelieving.

"Don't be stupid; if that were true Ornith would've left the Companions only a few years ago," I argued. And he had left only a few days after Eiwen's death. And _her_ death was over fifteen years ago. "He stayed for about thirty, thirty-five, I think, if I'm thinking this through properly. Which is still a long time."

"He should've been made a member of the Circle," commented Farkas. "He stayed there even longer than Myllasa and Lemaat!"

"You know...I don't think Ornith ever wanted to," Athis said. "Didn't want to get involved too much into politics. Enjoyed being a mentor to the whelps like Myllasa."

"Myllasa would've become a member of the Circle if she had been given the offer," said Vignar. "But Kodlak thought that she wasn't suitable Circle material, if I remember correctly. Chose Skjor over her."

"Yes." I could still remember how Skjor had been chosen over Myllasa, several months after Taija was reported dead...and Ornith had changed, and lost his prized katanas to the Silver Hand...those bastards. Gods, time had passed...

For a moment, I wondered if we had all forgotten about the incident in the night, that Wuuthrad had been stolen. Now we were just learning little snippets of Ornith's past. But eventually Athis snapped his crimson eyes to me and he said, "So you're certain that the Dunmer wasn't Sranys."

"I'm certain," I told Athis, somewhat wearily. "Definitely a Dunmer _woman_."

"All right." Athis gave a short nod, and then let out a quiet sigh. "I just...had to make sure that my family wasn't involved in this..."

I wondered if Ornith was of the House Indoril. If they were, then yes, Karliah would in a way be family to them. But some part of me doubted that Ornith was ever involved in that House. He, Nava, Sranys, Athis and Irileth all belonged to another...though I decided not to ask. I didn't understand Dunmer too well and asking directly about a House might be a little...impolite, or something.

"We don't judge by family," said Vilkas. "We judge by your heart's fire."

As, long ago, I had learned from a wise Argonian. I sighed, thinking of Samiith. Already I was lost in memory. All the happy times I had spent with my Shield-Brothers and -Sisters...they were long passed but I could still remember them, clear as day.

Then I heard Farkas say, "Yes. Blood has nothing to do with it. I can remember, when I was a kid, I didn't know that juniper was poisonous if eaten in excessive quantities. A Breton woman named Aileen nursed me back to health. She was a Reachwoman, and her brother, Derrick, was a Reachman. Their family were nearly all Forsworn."

"Forsworn?" Athis echoed wonderingly. "Really?"

Oh, I could remember all too clearly my Trial. "Once, me, Skjor, Myllasa, the Bretons and Orgmund got called to the Reach, to quell another Forsworn uprising. Aileen and Derrick were captured by their mother, an old hag called Mavuria." I could remember that brief moment when she had used Earth Magic on me. No other pain could ever compare to that. "She tried to turn them. They refused. The Companions were their family now, whatever Mavuria tried to make them think."

It was strange to speak of the past. It occurred to me that, besides Kodlak, I was probably the oldest Companion here. Vignar wasn't a Companion anymore—too old to get out there fighting, but he had plenty of wisdom and was a good advisor to Kodlak.

Athis seemed more or less comforted.

"I've never met Sranys," he said. "I've heard much about him from Ornith. Yes, he took the path of a thief...but he wasn't a bad man."

"All thieves are bad," said Vilkas in disgust.

"If they are, he wasn't," said Athis. "Because Sranys saved my mother's life. He saved Ornith's life. Without Sranys, they wouldn't be alive, and nor would I or Irileth. When Ornith came home and met me and Irileth for the first time he talked often about Sranys." He let out a breath. "I don't think all thieves are bad. But some...are misguided, perhaps." He shot a narrowed-eye stare at the fragments. Ria and Njada were almost done resetting the fragments.

"Let's hope that the Thieves Guild don't enter our lives anymore," said Vignar Gray-Mane.

I stifled a sigh. _If only you knew..._

* * *

"Aela."

Kodlak surveyed me very carefully over the rim of his book.

"My dreams have been dark of late," he said.

I blinked. "Harbinger?"

He sighed, accepting the prompt, and he said, "I'm not sure what I am seeing...I haven't put pen to paper about it yet, but I can feel something coming. Something cold, and dark, and I am...well, frightened, shall I say. I'm not sure what to make of it."

"Well, what are you seeing?"

Kodlak frowned.

"Death," he said, eventually. "And rage. But the rage isn't my own. And then I can feel grief. But it isn't grief from me...it comes from others."

There was a long pause, before I finally broke it. "That's it? Only feelings, and a sense of death?"

"My time seems to be coming," said Kodlak, quietly. He sighed. "She has been gone a long time."

No prizes for guessing who he was talking about. "She had business that she needed to attend to, urgently," I said. "But she's definitely in Falkreath now. I know this."

Kodlak slowly nodded. "Yes...as do I."

There was a long pause, a heavy and prickling silence that hung between the two of us. It had been a relatively short time since I had been called again to the aging Harbinger. Looking back upon his twenty-two years of ruling the Companions, I thought of how wise and strong the Harbinger had been to us all. I had never known Leiknir, much less realized _what_ he was, and it made me think of what Kodlak used to be, before Samiith died, before Orgmund went feral, before Aileen and Derrick left and Eiwen met her end in the Dwemer ruins. Remembering Ornith, I thought of the valuable warrior we long ago had lost, who appeared to have been with the Companions longer than even Kodlak.

It hurt me, realizing that Kodlak was coming to his end. He was into his twilight years, as he said. He looked more weary and tired each day. He had become so apart from the rest of us that he didn't join us at the table often anymore, and he was spending much time alone by himself. As though deciding on something.

Eventually, I asked him something I thought I'd never ask.

"What makes you have so much faith in Alyssa, Kodlak?"

He looked up, his paling eyes clearing, and he said, "Ah." He was quiet for a moment, before he said, "Has she told you?"

I frowned. "Told me what, exactly?"

"That she is...not quite as she seems," said Kodlak.

I cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

It was obvious that we were at an impasse. All I knew about Alyssa was that she was the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild. She told me that she'd tell me everything when she came back from Glenmoril Cave with the witches' heads. So it was obvious that she was something more than just plain Guildmaster. Kodlak knew this...

"Farkas knows, doesn't he?" I asked.

Kodlak nodded. "He's known for just over two months now."

It made me wonder...how long had Alyssa been with the Companions now? Five months, at the very least. My goodness, time had passed so slowly...and yet as fast as anything. Two months since Skjor died, two months since I began the hidden war with Alyssa. "If only I knew what," I said drily. "But soon—when she gets back from Glenmoril, she'll tell me."

Kodlak smiled faintly. "Good, good. About time, too."

I decided to risk a question. "Do you know about her job in Riften, Kodlak?"

He shrugged. "No. What about it?"

Ah. So he didn't know. "Not important," I said. "Just curious."

He nodded.

"So what did you call me in here today for, Kodlak, besides your dream?" I asked him. "Is that all?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I've only just begun. Things are clamouring to be spoken but I have little time to say it."

"Speak your mind—I can listen."

After another pause, Kodlak said, "When she returns, Farkas, Vilkas and I have decided that we will give up the beastblood. I've informed them of a possible cure, and they have decided to take it."

I nodded. "That's all right. But how do you cure yourself? I thought the blessing was permanent."

Kodlak frowned. "I know that there's a place, somewhere north, further than even the College of Winterhold. Somewhere where ancient magic...hasn't quite died."

"Ancient magic?" I asked curiously.

"I haven't quite confirmed _what_ it is," said Kodlak, his voice softening. "But it's there. I know it. All my years spent searching these old, dusty tomes for it, I think I've found it...Leiknir often talked about it, too. Something about a flame. A flame that is as old as the snows of Skyrim, the snows upon the Throat of the World."

"How can a fire be that old?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not fire. Flame. A flame, where ancient, wise heroes gather around, where they go to warm themselves...I'm not sure. It's very unclear. I've been thinking of writing to the Arch-Mage of Winterhold about it. However I've heard that she's busy at the moment, and that she's hardly there. But when Alyssa returns with the witches' heads, Farkas, Vilkas and I will set out there at once, to the Tomb."

"Tomb? It's a crypt?"

"Apparently so. A crypt where honoured heroes have long since been laid to rest." Kodlak sounded wondering. "But they are only rumours. Apparently, long ago, something was taken from the tomb, and broken, and the pieces were scattered all across the world. But I have only recently come to light that these pieces are actually in the care of the Companions. We've unknowingly been collecting not just the shards of a weapon—but also a _key_."

My eyes widened. "Wuuthrad?"

"Yes, Wuuthrad." Kodlak frowned. "Apparently, the Thieves Guild were contacted recently to steal them. Somebody wanted to remove any chance of us from reaching the Tomb. Any idea who, girl?"

I'm not sure what made me think it, but it came, immediately—it struck me in the chest.

"The Silver Hand," I said. "They're...they're starting to retaliate."

Kodlak frowned. "Hmmm. I thought as much...I hadn't dared think it for myself, though."

"So they send a thief to steal the Fragments, which we've worked so hard for to collect..." It all made sense now. Damn. I was going to have to have a very serious word with Alyssa, if I could, before she, the twins and Kodlak left on their journey. And one particular Silver Hand came to mind...

I didn't even want to _think_ his name. It made my teeth clench in rage.

"But the Thieves Guild were stopped in their tracks recently," I argued. "I tracked down the thief and retrieved the Fragments before she could get away with them. And she had only obtained about half by then...even so, enough to seriously slow us down if she had managed to escape."

"We'll have to keep a closer eye on them in the future," predicted Kodlak darkly. "The Silver Hand may know by now that their attempt at stealing the Fragments have failed. I sense that this won't be the only time that they attempt to strike. Your war with them, Huntress, has made them both angry and desperate." He placed a hand on my own. "Be on your guard, my dear. We cannot afford the Fragments to be lost. Not after all the years spent collecting them."

I nodded. "Don't worry, Kodlak. I'll make sure that he doesn't get them."

We both knew who I was talking about.

* * *

There was a swish of metal, and then a burning ache in my leg, and I was toppled over and onto my back. The next thing I knew, there was a touch of steel at my throat, and I closed my eyes, momentarily expecting the thrust to come.

But instead, I heard a huff of triumph, and Njada got off me, sheathed her weapon, and pulled me with strength to rival Farkas's back onto my feet. "Not too sore, are you, Huntress?" she commented, with a broad grin.

I rolled my eyes at her, even though my head was pounding where I had struck it against the stone (I really should have taken Ornith's advice and have Eorlund forge me a training helmet), and my leg was aching where the blade of Njada's monster greatsword had bitten into it, slicing a gash across the metal. I examined the plate metal. Nothing that Eorlund couldn't fix.

"You fight about as ferociously as your father," I said to her.

Njada smirked, flexing those huge arms. "He'd better watch out if he wants to lead Ulfric's armies to Whiterun."

"Definitely. You've inherited his arms, if not his fists."

She looked pleased at the comment, before she swung her greatsword over her back and said, "I'm going to have this sharpened up at the Skyforge. Always got to be on my guard. Good sparring with you, Huntress."

"You too, Stone-Arm." I watched as she headed up to the forge, before turning and deciding to head indoors, perhaps to see if there was any mead left from last night.

As I made to move, the doors swung open.

"Oh!—Hi," said Vilkas, as he came out.

"Hi," I returned. "How are things?"

"Good. Ria's shaping up well into a fighter."

"I'm not surprised. This is her...third year with us now?"

"Aye." Vilkas looked up at the clear, blue sky. "Good day, huh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised, being midway through Second Seed."

I leaned against one of the outdoor pillaring, in the same way I remembered Orgmund once had, when he was watching Myllasa and Aileen spar together. The memory was so old, but one I enjoyed clinging onto. I missed them, all of them.

After a moment, Vilkas said, "It makes me think, y'know?"

"I don't. Elaborate."

"Certainly. Makes me think, how much time has passed, since Farkas and I first came to this place." Vilkas was gazing blankly at the sky, leaning casually against the pillar, thinking. "We came to Jorrvaskr when we were twelve. Now here we are. Thirty-three."

I shrugged. "Nothing. I'm thirty-nine. I'm still about three times more active than you."

"Yes...hardly surprising. You've been a wolf for quite a while."

"Fifteen years."

"Ouch."

"Not ouch if you enjoy it. I know that you and Farkas want the cure."

Vilkas nodded. "It was great, being a wolf, at first," he admitted. "But...well, I want to see Sovngarde, and be with all the other Nord heroes when I die." He sighed. "I want to be a true Nord again."

"You've been a true Nord all your life—truer than most," I argued. "You've had the wolf for almost a decade, Vilkas. For so long...there's a chance that it may leave...well, side-effects. It's really settled into your blood now."

Vilkas bit his lip.

"Orgmund," he said. "I didn't know Orgmund had gone so feral in the past, particularly not towards you. I know he had left the Companions before my brother and I joined the ranks of the Circle, but...you know, when I thought the world was going to end, I was frightened that maybe the Dragonborn would've failed, you know...and then we'd all have died, and gone to paradises. I might have gone to the Hunting Grounds." He shivered, visibly. "It made me realize that there was no telling how much time we had left, and so we had better make the most of it. I still want to be a member of the Circle...but I want to break this curse. It's dragging me down and holding me and Farkas and Kodlak back more than you'd know."

"Really?" I frowned. "All I can see is advantages to this. Immune to disease, far more powerful and stronger as a wolf than we are as humans, and keener senses that have lasted with us for years, and which affect us even in this form. So forgive me if I don't see the negative side of it."

Vilkas frowned. "You'd say that, daughter of the moon."

The words were not intended as insult, so I let the phrase pass.

"Being moonborn is not so much a curse as you think," I said absently.

And then suddenly, we were distracted when a small dot appeared in the sky.

It was approaching Jorrvaskr, and steadily growing bigger. At first, I wasn't sure what it was...but as it drew near, and turned slightly so the sun caught on its wings, I realized what it was.

"That's a carrier hawk," said Vilkas, sounding intrigued. "Wonder who it's for..."

I had a feeling I knew.

Sure enough, the hawk swept low, big bronze wings fluttering in the sunshine. I went into the middle of the courtyard and held out my arm, and watched as the bird circled once more, before coming to a smooth rest on my arm. I stroked its handsome feathers absently, and then worked to pull off a message attached to its leg. Tucking it into my belt, I slipped three septims into the little pouch on its leg, and watched as it took off again into the sky, winging its way into the distant horizon.

Now I looked at the note in increasing excitement. As I opened it, smooth, elegant writing, written in the characteristic slant of the Dunmer people, appeared before my eyes, written out quickly on a piece of slightly-crinkled parchment, and marked with a simple sign of a diamond, with a circle enclosed within it, at the top.

_Huntress,_

_I've had Delvin search through every single contact that he knows and Brynjolf out in the street finding out anything regarding the Silver Hand. It's taken us several days, but we've finally uncovered something. It seems that the last large group of them are holding out in the ruins of Driftshade Refuge, some way far north up in The Pale. Apparently their leader is someone called Panjor. I hope this name is of some significance to you._

_Be cautious, Huntress. I've heard that they're rallying a small army...for what purpose, I don't want to know, but if this concerns you and your ilk, then you had better be careful. Hopefully this will have reached you before the spies report something more serious is happening with the Silver Hand, but storms have been festering in the Rift and Eastmarch and may delay this message in you receiving it._

_-K_

I'm not sure whether to thank Karliah for her efforts, or be shocked at the fact that she had even gone so far as to find out Panjor's exact location. She had mentioned him by name...

Driftshade Refuge...it wasn't one I was familiar with, I don't think...

"What have you got there?"

I instinctively lowered the message as I heard Vilkas approach. "Nothing," I said.

"Not 'nothing'," frowned Vilkas. "I saw something to do with Driftshade...and the Silver Hand, too...and who was 'K'?"

"Were you reading over my shoulder the whole time?" I asked irritably.

"No...but you were right in saying things about the wolf senses." He smirked with satisfaction.

"Fine," I said wearily, giving in. "A contact of mine has informed me on the last possible Silver Hand lair...unfortunately, I'm not sure where it is."

"Driftshade Refuge?" Vilkas checked, and when I consented, he said, "I know where it is."

"You do?" Hope flashed in my chest. "Tell me!"

"Now hold on...tell me more about why you want to go galumphing over there in such a hurry." Vilkas frowned. "The last time I heard you wanted to get somewhere in a hurry, it wound up with Skjor dead, and not much gained."

I looked defiantly back at him, folding my arms. "Vilkas, you had better tell me where the Refuge is, before bad things happen!"

"Here? Now?" Vilkas quirked a grin, and I rolled my eyes impatiently at him.

"Come on," I said shortly, already striding back into Jorrvaskr. "Inside. I'll find my map, and you had better mark where the Refuge is."

Vilkas chuckled as he obediently trudged after me. "Of course, Huntress."

Entering Jorrvaskr, I noticed that it wasn't quite as empty as I had hoped it to be. Farkas was chatting absently with Ria. Athis was admiring the fragments of Wuuthrad with a keen and thoughtful eye. Looking round, I wondered vaguely where Njada and Torvar were, and that Alyssa was going well in her pursuit of the Glenmoril witches. Recollecting briefly that Njada was probably getting her weapons sharpened up at the forge, and that Torvar was most likely down in the Bannered Mare, I proceeded over to the table and pulled out my map from my pocket, spreading it across and pinning it down in one corner with my dagger.

"Where?" I asked simply.

But before we could even get started, we were interrupted by the sudden sounds of the doors to Jorrvaskr creaking—no, _flying_—open. I spun around, hoping for a moment that it was Alyssa, returning, and what was more, successful in her endeavours—for Kodlak's sake more than the twins'.

Instead, I turned around to find a small group of people had now walked into Jorrvaksr. And immediately, my hackles were raised in caution. They wore firm, flexible armour of hide and metal, and long, sharpened weapons rested at their hips. Their eyes fell on me almost immediately, and they were cold.

The wolf snarled. I straightened. "Who are you, and what do you want?" I demanded.

And that was when I caught the whiff of scent. Something that made my blood run ice-cold.

_Silver_.

The leader of the Silver Hand party, some large, burly Breton, turned to me and said one word: "You."

Before Vilkas had even finished roaring a warning, the Silver Hand had drawn weapon and charged. But by then, I had tugged my dagger from the table, the beast snarling in me. So, they had come to Jorrvaskr at last, the cowards?

"Companions! To me!" I roared, my voice unnaturally deep, and in a sweeping, fluid motion, my dagger had slammed against the descending silver weapon of the first warrior who had advanced.

So began the battle of grief.

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**A/N: Dun dun dun DUN! I bet you can guess what's gonna happen next! But a special prize to the person who guesses who's going to be making a surprise appearance in the battle! And it is NOT going to be Alyssa!**

**But Kodlak, having those menacing dreams...Karliah, having found out the Silver Hand's location...and I wonder who can guess who Njada Stone-Arm's father is? Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter - it'll be hopefully more interesting than this one was, where it was mostly talk-talk-talk, but some chapters have to be with the talking, I'm afraid...**

**And READERS! There is a new poll on my profile! If you have not taken the poll, please do take it, because I SERIOUSLY NEED A LOT OF HELP!**


	62. Chapter 61 - Deadly Retaliation

**A/N: Hello again, readers! I won't keep you - apologies for the delay, but it's out at last! Enjoy...Shout is Out.**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-One

Genuine battle cries, for the first time in a long time, shook the interiors of Jorrvaskr in a frightening chorus. The Silver Hand had come to us, and I...I feared that I had led them to us.

Now I fought. They had come for me—they will have me! But they will go through the wolf that I am, that I always will be.

My dagger sung through the air, driving into the throat of the Breton Silver Hand leader, cutting it clean out after a furious bout of swordplay between us. I could feel the change starting to come over me. The wolf was calling for blood. But I couldn't. I wouldn't release the wolf, because both Circle-Siblings and whelps were now fighting.

"Kill her! Kill the wolf!"

I whirled around, to see three men advance towards me. I curled back my lips and snarled throatily at them, and goaded, "Think you can take me?"

There was no point trying to hide the secret itself any longer. The Silver Hand were fighting all of us in a frenzy. Silver weapons flashed through the air, and collided with Skyforge steel. I spared a glance at my surroundings. Nearby, I saw Vilkas and Farkas fighting back to back, a deadly duo, performing a dance of death, their twin greatswords sweeping through the air, merciless against the weapons of the Silver Hand. Farkas was a mighty man, built in sheer fortitude—Vilkas was one of quick thinking and agility. Together, they balanced each other, and held their own well against their attackers, who were nimble and skillful, and completely intent on taking their lives.

Vignar Gray-Mane, despite his age, had joined the fray, and he let out a traditional Nordic battlecry—"Victory, or Sovngarde!"—before falling on his nearest foe. He ducked down, surprisingly nimble, but groaned a little as he sprang back onto his knees, swinging his shortsword at his nimbler and more youthful assailant. The woman leapt at him, but was forced back by a very angry and defensive Brill. Though the man wasn't a warrior, he was certainly a good manservant of old Vignar the Revered.

Athis and Ria were fighting hard against the Silver Hand invaders, though confusion was evident across their faces, bewilderment in their movements. The Dunmer, I realized I had seen very little in battle. But now I watched as he smoothly buried his axe into the hip of a Silver Hand assailant, the grace of his uncle visible in his movements, and Ria thrusting her shortsword cleanly through the man's ribcage, blood splattering the floorboards of the mead hall.

Ten had come into Jorrvaskr, I remembered. The Breton leader was dead. A Silver Hand warrior was now dead. Eight to go.

But we were still outnumbered, and I was facing three at once. I faced forwards, as one of the Silver Hand warriors charged, long blade swinging. Wolfish instinct taking over, I ducked and rolled, bumping briefly against a nearby table and knocking an ornate vase to the ground. But it had given me an idea. I seized one of the broken fragments and flung it with all my might at a second advancing Silver Hand, striking him squarely in the face with it. He fell away, swearing and clutching his face as blood welled beneath his fingertips.

Immediately I was on my feet again. The Silver Hand warrior swung his sword again. I flicked my wrist, the dagger knocking away the force of the attack, and raced forward, my dagger swinging from my grasp. I cut a deep gash into the man's cheek, forcing him to stagger backwards as blood got into his eye while he moaned with pain. His sword fell dangerously near my arm and I growled as the heat of the silver rolled off onto my skin, making the hairs prickle with discomfort.

But I realized that even though two Silver Hand were dead, we were still badly outnumbered.

Suddenly the doors to Jorrvaskr banged open, and I heard a roar of, "Who didn't tell me there was going to be a bullshit party today!?", and the next moment, Njada and Eorlund had joined the fray. Njada wasted no time racing over towards me, perhaps seeing me badly outnumbered, and Eorlund ran to help his aging brother, one of his self-made battleaxes in hand.

"Need a bit of help, Huntress?" Njada asked, and she swept a freshly-sharpened blade into the back of one of my assailants. He slumped, howling his pain.

"Where were you ten seconds ago?" I demanded, using another Silver Hand warrior's back as a springboard to get out of hitting line of his weapon, and backthrusting my dagger beneath his leather armour and into his flesh.

"Sharpening my weapon." Njada smoothly sidestepped the other Silver Hand warrior's attack, one boot kicking out towards the slumped and wounded invader at the same time she punched her foe clean in the face. She flashed me a smirk. "And who said I didn't possess Galmar's fists?"

I dropped low, and kicked out myself, knocking my attacker to the ground and also the wind from his lungs. "Your arms are stronger!" I retorted, as I leaned over and stabbed my dagger as hard as I could through the man's jugular and up into his skull. His eyes rolled up into his head with death almost immediately after I tugged the blade out, drenched in crimson blood that only made the wolf growl hungrily in my mind.

I straightened, to see that Njada was engaged in a bout of furious swordplay with the other Silver Hand warrior, while the one she had injured lay groaning in the ground. I watched as Njada punched the Silver Hand's jawbone, then retracted her arm with a hiss of pain as the tip of his silver sword nicked her skin, and a flash of blood flew up into the air. "Little help?" she growled over her shoulder at me.

"With pleasure!" I slid my dagger into my sheath at the same time I pulled my bow down from my back. I tugged out an arrow, knocked it to the bowstring, pulled the twine back, and released with a satisfying _ping!_ The arrow sank easily into the Silver Hand's shoulder, and he grunted and fell back, disorientated long enough for Njada to kick him over onto his back.

"Want the honours?" she asked sweetly.

"Why not?" I advanced, pulling out an arrow savagely as I did so, knowing full well my rage was filling every movement of mine. The Silver Hand warrior was stunned and gasping for air. He'd make such an easy kill.

But something made me reconsider in the spur of a heartbeat. The next, I had kicked my boot as hard as I could into his temple, knocking him unconscious.

"Aw, why'd you do that?" Njada sounded almost disappointed, Nordic battle-fury overcoming her and making her eyes feverishly bright.

"We can question him later when this is over," I answered.

"On what?" Njada glared at him, and then turned to me. "Who in Talos's name are these men?"

"A band of warriors called the Silver Hand," I responded, my voice cold with fury. "They've finally had the nerve to attack here."

"But...what?" Njada was confused, evidently. "Why do they want to attack the Companions?"

My face grew grim as I suddenly saw the doors to Jorrvaskr fly open...ah, lovely. Reinforcements. "Me," I answered, and raised my bow.

Instantly the eyes of the Silver Hand reinforcements fell on me, and one of them cried, "It's her! Kill her! Kill the wolf!"

I had already pulled out an arrow and loosed it straight into the heart of one of the new Silver Hand men, but I realized that by now, we were still badly outnumbered. I glanced around at the battlescene. Ria had been wounded, her shield broken, and she lay slumped and dazed in one corner of the room, clutching a wounded arm. Athis was fighting for his life against two burly Silver Hand warriors. Farkas was already running to help Athis, and Vilkas was rallying the Companions. Vignar, exhaustion getting the better of him, slumped where he had collapsed, Brill trying desperately to rouse his master back onto his feet.

"Can we talk later?" I asked a stunned Njada, before my hand went up to another arrow, as the new Silver Hand reinforcements began to spread out into the battered Jorrvaskr.

"Kill all of them!" I heard one of the Silver Hand roar. "Spare no mercy for the wolves!"

I pulled back my bowstring, thinking, _you really are not tactful in the slightest, are you?_

Centuries of our secret, hidden...and now the Silver Hand were here. I saw several of their gazes fall on me, and savagely, I let loose my arrow. It thudded, true of aim, into one man's throat, killing him immediately. But by now they were starting to advance, and I was heavily outmatched.

I loosed a second arrow, but I was aiming rashly, and only struck one man's collarbone. He fell, nonetheless, with a grunt of pain, leaving me facing two very dangerous-looking Silver Hand females.

I lowered my bow, and pulled out my dagger. "Think you can take on a wolf?" I taunted them. What was the point of trying to keep it secret anymore?

One Silver Hand woman bared her teeth, as though _she_ were the beast. "Time to die, Huntress!"

They both wielded nasty-looking silver shortswords. I could feel the heat rolling off the weapons from here. I took a step back and they advanced, ready to gut me.

"Ever heard of playing fair?" I demanded, deciding to try and stall them for as long as I could.

"What's the point of playing fair, when you keep sending your little spitfire to our sanctuaries?" hissed the other Silver Hand woman, advancing somewhat menacingly. "Single-handedly destroyed us with the only thing we could possibly fear...and you speak of fairness!"

I glared at them. "You mean Alyssa? She's a champion of Hircine—and your worst enemy. As am I."

"The only thing is, you're _nothing_ like her," spat the Silver Hand woman.

I frowned, a trace of confusion in me now. "What are you talking about?"

"Enough of this! He will have your head!"

I could only guess who this 'he' was, and before the reality could dawn on me, they were attacking, and I jerked instantly back into aggression. The silver shortsword swept low, intending to stab me in the stomach. I deflected it, but awkwardly—mainly because I sensed that I was being forced back into the wall and I had hardly enough room to defend myself.

I felt a flash of fear run through me. Why had I been so stupid as to let myself get cornered?

The Silver Hand women attacked in unison—almost like Shield-Siblings would, when faced with many enemies, and were fighting in unison, back to back, their movements synchronized perfectly with one another's. Of course, there was me, armed with my dagger, which Ornith had taught me to use masterfully, but it was probably something like a toy compared to the biters that my two enemies had.

I'm not exactly sure how long we fought—I'm pretty certain it was about twenty seconds—but then suddenly the dagger was knocked out of my hands, and I heard it clatter on the floor well out of arm's reach. Without even giving me the chance to catch my breath and despair, the Silver Hand woman who hadn't disarmed me now surged forward, and I saw the silver tip of the blade glint nastily at me for a second, as though taunting me. The next moment, it had sunk straight into my side, tearing through flesh.

A feeling like fire raced through my blood and I let out a wordless scream of agony. This was pain unlike anything I had ever experienced—

No. It was pain I had felt before—a pain of a mortal wound. The memory of what felt like thousands of silver-headed arrows striking my body as I was held firm by Krev the Skinner now resurfaced. And the sudden, enclosing darkness that happened barely a second later, when one of the arrows found a vital spot all too close to my heart.

Now the silver coursed through my beastblood, and the wolf howled, tilting back its head as it slumped to its side, blood spilling from the wound. I could hardly see through the haze of pain that had engulfed my vision, but I felt sickly warmth rushing down my side. The blade was torn from my side, sending another spray of blood over the floor, and my legs gave, and I crashed somewhat unceremoniously onto the floor, half-leaning against the wall and trying in vain to stand and defend myself.

"And so the Huntress dies," the Silver Hand woman who had stabbed me sneered, though her voice sounded as though it were coming from several miles away. "But this time, we're going to make certain of your death."

_Oh, lovely,_ said the cynical voice somewhere in my fading consciousness. _They're not even going to give me the common courtesy of letting me die first, before cutting off my head._

Distantly I heard a voice scream my name, though by now I was too senseless to even make out the words. I saw a shadow overtake my vision and an arm draw back, ready to cleave into my neck. But suddenly, quite unexpectedly, taking even me by surprise, a bolt of lightning went flying across the room and struck the Silver Hand woman squarely, and ferociously, between her shoulders. She fell like a stone—the shock of it must've stopped her heart.

The other Silver Hand woman turned around, but suddenly a grey-and-brown blur was facing her. I saw a glint of red somewhere near the head area, and I wondered if my mystery saviour was Athis, for a moment. The Silver Hand woman, taken completely by surprise, didn't stand a chance, as her new opponent bore a grace that could have only come from one particular Dunmer.

Then she was leaning over me, red eyes betraying fear. "Aela, hold on, you're going to be all right."

Damn. I knew that voice.

"Please tell me why you took so God-damned long to get here," I murmured. Talking was such a labour, and the pain was dulling into an ice-cold ache that was reaching up towards my slowly-beating heart.

"Sorry about that—Delgar only just told me that Jorrvaskr was under attack and I had to run straight down from Dragonsreach." A hand grey as ash now pressed against my side, while the other worked to pull a large crimson bottle from a pouch at her side. "Breathe, Aela. Don't worry—Uncle Ornith will kill me if I let you die."

"Don't bother," I rasped, aware that my throat was closing up and I hardly had the strength to stay awake. Sleep sounded like an excellent idea. Distantly I heard the chaos intensify—the battle was becoming more ferocious, but for a reason I didn't quite understand yet.

"Just shut up and let me do the work of saving you, will you?" Irileth said tartly.

I smiled vaguely, remembering the year or two she had been with the Companions—an attitude that would've made Derrick quite proud indeed. I saw through a darkening vision Irileth finally pull out the bottle completely, and take out the cork at the top. The next moment, she had removed her hand, which was now stained with my black beastblood, and poured the red liquid into the wound.

The consequences of that occurred almost instantly. I cried out as a bolt of stinging pain and energy shot the length of my body, and just like that, the approaching darkness began to recede and everything started coming back—fuzzy, at first, but gradually in more detail. Irileth poured a little more into the wound, and the stinging intensified until I felt like retching. "Will you stop that?" I snapped, relieved when I was sounding more like my old, feisty self.

"Oh, yes, tell that to the Dunmer who's saving your life," said Irileth sarcastically, though she was grinning. She poured about half the liquid into my wound, and then gave the rest of the bottle to me. "Drink," she said simply, and then pressed the dagger into my free hand. "And you might need this. I think your Harbinger needs a little help."

Shock made me open my eyes completely. "Kodlak's _fighting!?_"

"And well, for a man of sixty-nine," Irileth added, standing up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to help my brother. And Delgar's gone for reinforcements—no more Silver Hand bastards will get through him!" She hurried away at that.

Damn—that healing potion she had given me must've packed quite a punch, because by now energy was starting to warm my blood and the wolf was pricking its ears and drawing its fangs again. I looked blankly at the bottle for a moment, remembered what I was meant to do with it, and drank it—cringing at the sickly-sweet taste but desperate for its healing measures. My head cleared of the fuzzy fog and within a few seconds, I was able to push myself to my feet. My side ached, restricting movement in my left arm (so ditch the idea of a bow) but my right side was still strong. I grasped my dagger with renewed vigour, adrenalin starting to flood through my veins.

Pushing myself to my feet, I saw at once that the tides of battle were starting to turn, and hope flooded through me—there was a chance we'd pull through this yet. Irileth and Athis were now fighting back to back. Irileth was shooting lightning from her fingertips, a skill she had self-developed as a born Nightblade Dunmer, and not to mention the way she was fighting the Silver Hand mercenaries. A true Companion. Ria was starting to recover, Vilkas and Farkas were starting to drive back a force of about three brute-like Silver Hand warriors on their own, and Vignar and Brill appeared to have made it down to the safety of the undercroft.

And then there was Kodlak. It made me realize that I had hardly ever seen my Harbinger fight in his human form until now. He was old, and the rot was affecting him more and more these days, but there was a wild light in his eyes—a light of complete and utter rage. Even as an old man, he was formidable. He was fighting two Silver Hand warriors at once, twisting and turning and moving with enviable ease in his wolf armour, his Skyforge steel blade singing in his gauntleted hands.

A white-hot rage and loathing of the Silver Hand opened up in me then, and I charged towards my Harbinger. One of the Silver Hand warriors, distracted, spun around to counter my sweeping thrust of my dagger, but in the process, Kodlak was able to knock his legs out from under him.

"I thought Myrva killed you!" the grounded Silver Hand spluttered disbelievingly as I loomed over him, pressing a knee to his chest and the other to his arm, cutting off his movement.

"Think again!" I punched the dagger into his throat and watched as his eyes widened in panic. "This Huntress is one stubborn bitch of a wolf who isn't ready to die yet!" The blood welled delightfully from the wound. The wolven part of me was starting to take over, but I savoured the feeling—it gave me heightened senses and energy.

Withdrawing my dagger and straightening, leaving the man to bleed on the floor and mentally apologizing to Tilma for the one hell of a mess she was going to clean up later, I flanked Kodlak's side. "Harbinger, what are you doing?" I growled out of the corner of my mouth, as he and I began to dance around the Silver Hand mercenary, battle resuming between the three of us. "You can't fight!"

"It's about time I did, then!" Kodlak responded, huffing heavily through his beard, but determination glinting in his silver eyes.

"Lay down your arms, old man," sneered the Silver Hand mercenary, brandishing his silver greatsword. A heat unlike the flames that roared behind me and Kodlak washed over the pair of us, and we flinched slightly in the wake of the silver. "Your time has come! Prepare to meet your Lord!"

"And prepare to meet your demise," Kodlak answered, rushing forward and swinging his axe wildly through the air. The force behind the blow countered the younger Silver Hand warrior's parry, and both of them staggered. The blow had affected Kodlak greatly, though—he wasn't such a young man anymore, and he was tiring quickly from the battle.

As for me, I was pretty tired, too. I had lost a lot of blood that the ultimate healing potion couldn't quite replenish in a hurry. I was running solely on adrenalin now. As a result, we felt that we were pretty evenly matched with this Silver Hand warrior alone.

The brief lull in battle passed. He charged—I sidestepped and Kodlak braced himself to parry. The blow delivered made my Harbinger stagger and double over, wheezing heavily. The Silver Hand warrior raised his weapon to cleave Kodlak's head from his shoulders, but then I was there, and I had kicked out with all my strength into the Silver Hand's leg. He grunted and staggered, his blow swinging clumsily and thudding into the ground.

"Oh come on, where's your fire?" I scorned, as I made to drive my dagger into his arm. Quick as a flash, the Silver Hand sidestepped, and countered by slamming a fist into my chest, knocking the wind from me. I staggered, but forced myself to stand tall, not to back down or to fall, even though a strange dizziness was threatening to overcome me and my ribs were aching.

"You won't come through this alive, Huntress," the Silver Hand mercenary hissed.

"Will you shut up? I've heard this so many times before it's boring!" I delivered a savage uppercut that made the Silver Hand warrior stagger backwards, nearly into the brimming flames behind him. My hand was throbbing but I hardly cared. "You are all so stupid and confident—that's why one whelp of a wolf was able to destroy, single-handedly, your hideouts!"

The Silver Hand straightened, a scowl falling over his face. "One whelp of a wolf and a fistful of flames!" he spat. "You Companions play dirty!"

"Says the one to send two spies into our midst fifteen years ago!" I retorted furiously. "Like _cowards!_"

Oh yes, I had touched a nerve there. The Silver Hand grasped his weapon and charged. I leapt out of the way, shrugging off the punishment with the corner of my dagger. The Silver Hand attempted to counter-attack, but I was ready. And then quite suddenly, the Silver Hand warrior had both his legs cut out from under him by a well-placed sweeping blow from Kodlak.

As the Silver Hand warrior crashed to the ground, Kodlak loomed over him, Skyforge warhammer clutched in his hands. He was breathing heavily.

"Any last words?" Kodlak growled.

The Silver Hand warrior's eyes betrayed fear, but he coughed. "Go to hell," he snarled. "The day of grief has come."

_The day of grief..._

I watched, as though in slow motion, as Kodlak ended the Silver Hand warrior's life. He brought his warhammer down, and it crashed on the man's skull, smashing his face beyond recognition and making a bloody mess on the floor.

But the words rang clearly in my mind.

_Beware the rage that follows, for it will bring naught by grief in the end._

I whirled around, but every movement took an age.

I watched, stunned and horrified, disbelief flooding through me and a wild desperation rising within me, as I saw the man step out from the shadows. A man, hooded and cloaked, his arms raised, an arrow set to the string of his bow.

There was a smirk on his face. A smirk of victory.

I watched as he loosed his arrow.

I let out a cry of warning, but the words were painfully slow to come from my mouth. Instead, I felt as though I were trapped in time. And all I could do was watch.

Watch as the arrow sped through the air.

An arrow that bore an eerie likeness to the ones I had received as a gift, when I was seventeen.

Oh, Gods...Gods, no...

Then the arrow had met its mark. Kodlak had turned too late. Gods, he was too late. I could only watch, my heart tearing apart. Watch as the arrow sped through the air, and embedded itself squarely through Kodlak's throat.

Kodlak's eyes widened in pain and surprise. He stiffened, still as stone. The heavy warhammer slipped from his hand. He opened his mouth, desperate to breathe, to cry out, to do anything. But nothing came. Only blood. Blood which welled from the corner of his mouth, and into his beard.

His strength gave. He sank to the floor, falling onto his back.

And it was then that I let out a scream. "KODLAK!"

My cry seemed to silence the battle. My cry of complete and utter grief. I didn't need to look around me to know that the twins had spun around, alarmed, and saw the sight that greeted them. The whelps stopped fighting. Hope died. Everything seemed to die.

Everything but...

I turned around. Panjor lowered his bow, and a smile of satisfaction was playing on his face. He moved back slowly, without fear, towards the door. He watched me, a challenge glinting in his eyes. Then, with his other hand, he lifted something up. A sack, clutched surely in his fist.

And I knew what it contained.

No...

No!

"NO!"

My hand moved, and I saw Panjor's smile falter—just for a moment. He stepped backwards hastily. My dagger sailed through the air, speeding towards him. He moved only just in time to avoid it punching through his heart, but I heard the sickening squelch as the dagger bit into his shoulder, tearing through cloth and armour.

I heard his retreating footsteps, fleeing through the doors of Jorrvaskr.

But I did not pursue him.

I stayed where I was. I heard footsteps pummel over the floorboards. What were left of the Silver Hand were joyously crying a sickening victory. They ran past the Companions, who weren't even trying to put up a fight anymore.

Kodlak...oh, Gods...

I turned and ran to my Harbinger's side, kneeling beside him and clutching his hand. I was frantic—I didn't know what to do. I felt lost, frightened, and more alone than I had ever felt before. I gripped his hand tightly, not knowing what to say to him.

Kodlak stared at me, and his mouth twitched. He was trying to speak...Gods, please, let him speak.

"You'll be all right, Harbinger, please, you'll be all right..." I wasn't sure if the words came through or not. But that's what I wanted him to believe.

Kodlak swallowed, with immense difficulty. He coughed blood. His mouth moved all the more frantically. He was trying desperately to place words. His grip tightened on my hand, and his eyes became round with terror. He didn't want to die. Kodlak was afraid. A terrible, terrible feeling shot through me. This was all my fault...

And then suddenly, he relaxed. His eyes glazed over, and rolled into his head. His hand slid from my grasp, and thudded dully onto the floor beside him. His chest heaved one last time. And then that was it.

Silence.

Silence that rang in my ears, pounded in my head.

And the awful truth.

He was dead.

Kodlak was dead.

Kodlak...the man, Harbinger of the Companions, leader of us for two decades, who had welcomed me into the Companions and given me endless chances and protected me, who had been like a second father to me...he was dead.

I heard the footsteps, then. Surrounding me. I barely could register anything now. Everything was moving so painfully slowly...

And grief welled in me. Nothing but grief. All the energy, all the fury, all the fire that had kept me going throughout the battle...gone. Gone like my life nearly had, a second time.

Then, I slowly leaned forward, and closed Kodlak's eyes. It felt like a pitifully small tribute to him. I should have saved his life. I should have been able to stop it...by the Gods, why hadn't I been able to _stop it!?_

Farkas came to my side. He was crying, freely. Slowly, he knelt by Kodlak's side, and then sat beside him, closed his eyes and silently wept, bowing his head. Ria turned into Vilkas's side and cried into his shoulder. He hugged her, only staring blankly at Kodlak, shock and grief draining his face of blood and rooting him to the spot. Athis and Irileth held each other close, seeking silent support from one another. Eorlund, drenched in sweat, only stared blankly at Kodlak, hardly daring to believe it. Njada sat down beside Farkas and placed her hand on Kodlak's.

Then I felt someone gently grasp my shoulders and pull me to my feet. "Come," he murmured. It was Vilkas.

I didn't protest. I let him guide me to a nearby bench. I sat down, feeling all the strength leave me. Because grief was starting to well in me. Grief I had felt for Eiwen when she had died. Grief I had felt for Samiith. Gods...the raw, terrible grief that I had felt for Skjor...

Grief that Olava had foretold. That even Ornith had foretold, the day he and I shared final words together as Shield-Siblings. That I had forgotten...

And that Panjor had caused.

But I felt no hatred. I could feel nothing anymore. Vilkas moved away, and Ria, tearstained, came and sat down beside me, clutching my arm to give me silent support, murmuring softly that I had done all I could, and that his death was not my fault...

But it was. More than she'd understand. Kodlak had died because I had been blinded by rage and a desire for vengeance. Because Alyssa and I had provoked the Silver Hand too much—Kodlak had warned me against it and now he was dead—dead, because of me.

A thud interrupted my grief-stricken thoughts. I looked up. A small contingent of Whiterun guardsmen had arrived, led by a familiar figure. Delgar. And beside him was, to my shock, Alyssa.

"You're too late," Vilkas said roughly, before anyone could speak. "They're gone."

He spoke as much to Alyssa as he did to the guards.

"By the Gods...what...?" Delgar was lost for words.

Irileth mercifully took authority here. "All of you, get out of here and search Whiterun for any last members of the Silver Hand," she instructed, her voice ringing clearly through the room. "If you find any, kill them. We aren't taking prisoners. Not after this."

"Right you are, Housecarl..." Delgar nodded to the guardsmen and they went back out the way they had come.

Alyssa did not go with them. She was only staring—staring in a mixture of horror and disbelief at the sight she was seeing. She didn't even know what to say. At her side, Meeko paced, letting out a whimper of grief.

I looked at Alyssa, vaguely realizing that she looked as though she had seen Oblivion face to face. There were fresh cuts over her face, some looking as though they would scar. Her Guildmaster's leathers were in tatters. A large sack, nestled just beneath a near-devoid quiver of ebony arrows, was strapped over her back, and it bulged. Even from here, the wolf could smell a foul odor rising from it. Her face was drawn, too—her eyes bore a pained and haunted look to them that had nothing to do with the sight of Kodlak's body.

"Where," said Vilkas, his voice like ice, "have you _been?_"

"I...I was doing Kodlak's bidding," Alyssa said, her voice unusually quiet, bearing no fire, bearing no challenge...lowered in something that seemed to rise up to haunt her. "But what happened here?"

"The Silver Hand, that's what," growled Vilkas. Then, he sounded defeated. "They attacked without warning. We fought them off...but the old man, Kodlak, he's dead..." His voice caught in his throat for a moment, before it sharpened in anger. "And they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad."

Wuuthrad. To add insult to injury, Panjor and his vile men had taken Wuuthrad. It had taken us decades to find the pieces! We had almost completed it—one piece away! I glanced at the empty display case. All of Wuuthrad was gone. Panjor had taken them, just as he had taken Kodlak.

"What the hell were you doing this time, Alyssa?" Vilkas demanded.

"Doing his bidding..." Alyssa's voice was haunted. She removed the sack from her shoulders and put it down as though the weight were unbearable. "The Glenmoril witches are dead...I have their heads. But..." She broke off. "Oh, Gods, I was too late."

Meeko howled.

And then something happened that I will not forget.

Farkas had risen to his feet. And he looked at Alyssa—his face was a mask of complete fury.

"If only you were here," he growled—the wolf had crept into his voice, and his eyes glinted bronze. Rage was clouding the man with the strength of Ysgramor. "If you had been here, we would have won this, and Kodlak would still be alive!"

His voice was so accusing and filled with hate that it took all of us aback—even Alyssa.

She stared, and then, the fire returned to her eyes. She straightened, and said to him, "Don't you try and blame this on me!"

"But this is your fault!" Farkas roared. "You provoked them into doing this!"

He gestured around him, and bellowed, "And now see what you have done!? You could have saved him—you could have protected Jorrvaskr if you were here! If you hadn't kept your secret to us for so long, we might have had a scrap of hope!"

"I couldn't tell the others, Farkas!" A pleading note came into Alyssa's voice, something I had never heard before. "Some things are meant to be—I didn't want to be that woman again! That woman died on that fateful day long ago!"

"Then you need to be her again—for our sake, for all of our sakes!" Farkas took a step forward, his eyes completely bronze now. "Now the pain of loss strikes us all hard, while you hide behind your scars, hiding the truth from all of us, your brothers and sisters! Kodlak is dead because you chose to keep your tongue still—because you chose to deny who you were!"

"You don't understand, Farkas—"

But I was starting to grow confused. And then, something occurred to me...

The day that Farkas and Alyssa had gone to Dustman's Cairn...he had found out something about her. He had kept it secret...

"I'm done hiding the truth!" Farkas shouted. "You are not a wolf, Alyssa, and you never will be! Show them!" He gestured wildly to the bemused Companions behind him. "Show them who you really are! Give them hope!"

Alyssa took a step back. "I can't! I can't be her again! I've only just come down to Nirn!"

"Have courage, Alyssa! It's time to stop hiding your true nature—your legacy, your everything! Kodlak died today because you were not here, and still you refuse! I am done keeping it from the rest of us. Tell them or I will! What really happened, that day at the western watchtower, two years ago? What really happened? How did you really get your scars!? _Tell them!_"

Silence followed.

And then, I watched as a tear fell down Alyssa's cheek.

"You may want her to return," she murmured. "But she cannot. I see now that I can never become one with the pack." She looked steadily at Farkas. "My coming to Jorrvaskr was a mistake, I see now. A terrible mistake. I let my inner nature cloud my senses—I cannot remain here."

Inner nature? Was she talking about her wolf...or something else?

"I won't let any more die because of me," she said, her voice merely a whisper.

And then she was gone. The doors closed. And a feeling like ice fell over all of us.

Several silent minutes passed, until at last, I ventured, "Farkas..."

He turned towards me, his eyes sad and brown again.

"Her kind has no place here," he said, his voice expressionless. "A creature of flight can have no place with a pack of wolves."

Then, he sat down and bowed his head, and said nothing more.

* * *

**A/N: And that is that.**

**Kodlak...RIP. I'm so sorry...**

**Hands up for anyone who really wants to see Panjor's guts torn out.**

**And I really was waiting for this confrontation between Farkas and Alyssa. The one thing I most keenly anticipated in this chapter. Now the third part of the prophecy has been fulfilled, and the next part will soon be as well. Sorry again for the delay. And yes, it was Irileth who turned up! A pity that nobody guessed her...her brother's a Companion, after all.**

**The poll results are tipping towards Alyssa's Chronicles. I'm already excited to start planning it out - and one note. I'm posting news on my profile, so do check there regularly to be kept posted on events, including updates and whatnot. Now enough of this enormous Author's Note, I'll let you get to reviewing. Thanks again for reading...and next time, we have the long-awaited confrontation between Panjor and Aela, as well as the truth of Alyssa and who she really is coming out. So stay tuned! Shout is Out.**


	63. Chapter 62 - Wrath of the Wolf

Chapter Sixty-Two

"Come, Huntress...you're still wounded..."

I shook them off. "No. My wounds can wait."

Ria bit her lip in anxiety, and Irileth frowned, but neither attempted to stop me again.

Looking around Jorrvaskr, I saw that work was already going underway to fix up this place. Corpses were being dragged outside and they'd be carried to the Hall of the Dead. Let the priests of Arkay deal with those Silver Hand bastards. Tilma, with a sigh, had resigned herself to scrubbing blood out from the woodwork. Kodlak's body had been taken for preparation of burial, and a pyre was being built over the Skyforge.

And as for us, poor, battered wolves...

"You know," Irileth told me as Ria limped away, "those Silver Hand warriors...they said quite a few strange things in battle. From what I heard."

I sighed. I had feared this day was in the coming. "I don't think you'd believe us if we told you," I murmured, putting my head in my hands. I felt so tired.

Irileth sat down beside me and said quite sincerely, "Trust me. I've seen things you'd never believe."

Looking up, I drew a deep breath. I suspected that many of our whelps were already getting the hint of something. Nearby, I heard footsteps clodding on the ground, and I glanced at Vilkas as he passed. He and I exchanged a glance.

Vilkas had been hurt, cuts to his face that must be stinging from the effects of silver, but his eyes were grim. He and I exchanged a look. Then, we decided on one thing.

He walked off and I glanced back at Irileth.

"The...Silver Hand...they're a group of werewolf hunters."

Irileth nodded. "I got the gist of that. But why were they here, in Jorrvaskr?" She frowned. "There are no werewolves here. I just thought you had done them a wrong, in some way. Farkas said that Alyssa was provoking them..."

"They...it was only retaliation," I said stiffly, "when Skjor died to them."

"I heard about Skjor's death," Irileth conceded. "And I'm sorry to hear of your loss. I can say this to your face now when my duties kept me up in Dragonsreach. But...the Silver Hand killed him? Why?"

I looked over Jorrvaskr and wondered how I was going to phrase this.

Eventually, I said, "Skjor, Kodlak, the twins...they were brothers to me."

"Shield-Brothers, right?"

"More than that. Brothers of the pack."

It didn't take long for Irileth to understand, and when she did, her face became several shades of grey lighter.

"You...you're a _werewolf?_"

Grimly, I nodded.

Irileth was struggling hard with the information. Trying to keep a straight face. After a moment, she said stiffly, "The...others? Skjor? The twins?" Her face paled. "Nerevar save me, _Kodlak?_"

"The twins and Kodlak don't want the blood anymore," I said quickly. "They resent being wolves now. Kodlak...he was looking for a cure..."

The heads. The witch heads! The ones that Alyssa had brought back...

Alyssa. Where was she now? What had made her so...well, so _torn_ like that? I had never seen her behave in that way...and nor had I seen Farkas, either. I felt a wave of concern reach me. She had fled Jorrvaskr, and some part of me told me that she wasn't going to return...

"What about the rest of the Companions?" Irileth asked, her voice quiet.

"No. Just the members of the Circle."

Suddenly, Irileth scowled.

"Can you..._control_ the beast?"

I sensed immediately what she was getting at. "The first time they transform, they lose control of themselves. The...two...that were seen in Whiterun over the past years were...newborn. They both got out into the city before we could get them into the wilderness."

Irileth's scowl deepened. "You realize that five guardsmen have died because of your...your _kind's_ newborn behaviour? Caused grief to five separate families?"

I glanced at her. "The blood affected them more powerfully than we thought."

"Was one of them you?"

"No. Farkas and...well, and Alyssa."

Irileth stiffened at this. "Wait...Alyssa's a _werewolf?_"

"She took the blood only two months ago."

Irileth had a look of shock written all over her face. Then, she frowned.

"I can only imagine that was a hard choice for her to make."

I frowned. "You know something...you and Farkas know something, don't you? Something about her."

Irileth nodded. "She...she told me that she didn't want it told. She came back and she was different, and she wanted to make a clean start. Especially with her new appearance."

"You know about that, too?"

"Yes. She explained the change personally to me and the Jarl and indeed, his whole court, so she could convince him."

"Convince him of what?"

Irileth bit her lip. "Look. You've told your secret. I...I suppose I can do the favour in return. And Farkas is right—even though she feels she can't be her again, she needs to be for the Companions, especially now." She looked carefully at me and said, "Aela, Alyssa...she is Dr—"

"Aela! What did you say you were going to do with this runt again?"

Njada's shout interrupted whatever Irileth was going to tell me, and in a flash, I remembered...one of the Silver Hand wasn't dead. Quickly I leapt to my feet, trying to force aside the nauseating aches and sharp pains in my side where I had been run through, and hurried towards where Njada was looming over the unconscious Silver Hand warrior, who was just starting to come around.

I heard the Companions gather behind me, and the glint of their weapons were thirsty for blood and for any small level of vengeance they could get. But I glanced towards them and commanded, "Stop. I left him unconscious for a reason."

"Why didn't you kill him?" Athis growled.

"Make him suffer," Eorlund fumed.

I turned around. "Go and fetch a bucket of cold water," I demanded of anyone. "I'm going to find out—and make for certain—where my old mentor has run off to."

As Farkas headed down to the undercroft, I heard Ria say in confusion, "Wait...you know...you knew the Silver Hand?"

"One of them," I growled through gritted teeth. "In particular, the one who killed Kodlak."

Several placed their hands over their mouths in horror at these words. Vilkas, however, simply scowled and said, "Panjor. His name was Panjor, wasn't it?"

"Aye," I affirmed. "It's Panjor." The name brought a sour taste to my mouth even just saying it. My hatred for him had grown to a point of sheer fury. I could hear the wolf snarling in my throat.

Njada frowned slightly. "And why did this Panjor character come to Jorrvaskr?"

"Simple," I responded. "He wanted my head. And in particular, he wanted this." I gestured to my amulet of Hircine, resting on my chest. "He and I have a very bitter grudge. One that even my Lord wants fulfilled."

"Your...your lord?" echoed Athis.

"Hircine," Eorlund supplied. "Aela is a daughter of the moon—and she's not alone in that cause."

"Daughter of the moon?" Njada repeated in confusion.

"Moonborn. Lycanthrope. Whichever is easier."

At that blessed moment, Farkas chose to reappear with the bucket of cold water. With a nod of thanks, I took it, and trying to ignore the confused, frightened and disbelieving stares scorching me, I said softly to myself, "You won't be running anywhere for very long, Panjor—I'm coming for you." Then, I threw the bucketload of icy water over the Silver Hand's head.

A wonder, icy water was. He sat up and gargled almost immediately, eyes flying open in shock as his body was completely drenched. When he finally realized that he was surrounded by his enemies—and in particular, me, who was glaring over him with a glint of bronze in my silver eyes—he looked as though he was going to piss himself.

No mercy. I was done with that. I threw the bucket aside, grabbed the front of his armour, and single-handedly lifted him up and thrust him hard against the wall, so hard that he nearly lost consciousness again. The wolf was enraged—and so was I.

"Where is he?" I snarled.

The Silver Hand, to his own mercy, wasted no time pretending that he didn't know what was happening and who I wanted to know the location of.

"Pity you're still alive," he rasped. "But if you're still here that means that he's waiting for you."

I could hear agitated movements behind me but I pressed harder against the Silver Hand's collarbone until he let out a soft squeal of panic. "_Where?_" I growled.

"He's...he's taking the Fragments to Driftshade Refuge," whimpered the Silver Hand. "But he's waiting for you to come and find him, Huntress. He's going to end it. This day. This night. By the river."

The wolf snarled in my throat. I threw him to the ground and stepped back, disgusted.

"Then I'm going to find him," I stated icily. "No more running, Panjor. Fifteen years is a long time."

"Wait, you're...you're not actually going to go alone, are you?" Farkas's voice had a note of worry in it.

I turned towards him, my mind already made up. "Too many have died because Panjor was hunting me," I told him—told all of them. "Samiith fell because he was with me." Memory and sadness glowed in the eyes of the twins, and Eorlund bowed his head in respect for the Argonian. "Skjor died because he went ahead of me." I felt a flush of rage run through my blood. "And Kodlak...now he has died, because Panjor wants to _break_ me."

Anger and grief glittered in the eyes of everyone gathered now.

"It's me he wants," I said coldly. "And it's me that he's going to get. It's time to end this. Once and for all."

"But why does he want to kill _you_ in particular, Aela?" asked Ria hesitantly.

"Because I'm a champion of Hircine," I said unflinchingly. "I'm a daughter of the moon. I'm His Hound. And I am the Huntress of Whiterun Hold. Because he raised me as the best possible hunter that ever existed. Because he intended for me, one day, to join the cause I didn't realize he served, until the day we were grimly reunited, fifteen years ago."

They listened...afraid, and angry.

"And because," I concluded, "I have waged war against their sanctuaries. Because Alyssa and I have destroyed them, until they became desperate. Now we have a means of ending the Silver Hand for good." I clenched my fists. "Panjor is the one responsible for all the chaos that the Silver Hand have caused us over the decades. Taija, Samiith, Skjor and now Kodlak have all died because of him and his men. Now it comes down to one thing—me, and him."

"And reclaiming our lost honour," Vilkas added, his face a thunderous mask. "He had the nerve to steal Wuuthrad from a pack of wolves. They are in Driftshade Refuge—and I will go and reclaim them."

I turned to him. "Wait, brother—not now."

"Not now? Why not now? Now is not a better time!"

"Let me strike fear into their hearts one more time," I growled. "Let me kill Panjor first. When I return as day breaks, the Silver Hand will know terror unlike anything they have ever felt. They will be lost without Panjor to lead them. The wrath of the wilds will be unleashed in a way that they will never have experienced before."

Vilkas hesitated. Then, he frowned, and nodded.

"Good luck—"

He was interrupted when suddenly the doors to Jorrvaskr flew open and our attention immediately snapped to the two figures struggling in. One was a Whiterun guard. And the other was...

"Torvar!" Athis exclaimed in total disbelief.

It made me realize that he had been entirely absent during the attack. For a moment, I was angry—he looked drunk, yet again. I began to make my way towards him, but immediately the guardsman said, "Before you jump to conclusions, Danica confirmed that he had been drugged. Poison had been slipped into his mead."

We stiffened in shock. Torvar looked semi-conscious, and his face was drawn and pale.

Farkas and I took Torvar from the guard, who I recognized to be Delgar by the sounds of his voice and his scent. Our Companion brother slumped heavily in our grip, only feebly stirring. Another flash of rage went towards the Silver Hand. I was certain that they had done this—it was easy for a little sample of poison to be slipped into a momentarily-unattended flagon of mead in the Bannered Mare.

"I'll take him," grunted Farkas, picking up Torvar on his own and carefully slinging him over his back. He headed towards the whelps' rooms.

"Someone go and find Danica," I instructed. Athis shakily nodded and headed out of Jorrvaskr.

"Aela," said Eorlund, his voice heavy with dislike, "what should we do with the Silver Hand?"

I glanced towards him, frowning and mulling on the possibility of killing him. I could see that similar intentions were glittering in the eyes of the Companions.

Then Irileth narrowed her eyes and said, "He can be arrested. Hauled up to Dragonsreach and spend his time in the cells. Let him understand the meaning of justice in ways that don't involve any more bloodshed."

The wolf snarled bitterly in my throat, but I agreed. "Fine."

"Delgar, kindly escort this Silver Hand up to the dungeons," Irileth instructed.

He nodded and marched past me towards the Silver Hand warrior. He didn't even try to struggle as the Whiterun guard pulled him to his feet and twisted his hands behind his back, tying them together with bindings, before leading him out from Jorrvaskr. Irileth followed him, pausing at the doorway to say to us, "I'll inform the Jarl of Kodlak's death."

I nodded, and then she had gone.

When Jorrvaskr was quiet once again, I made to leave, but before I did, I noticed the large sack that lay by the door. A foul odour was rising from it, and I remembered what was in it.

"Vilkas," I called to him. "Can you deal with this?" I prodded the sack with my foot.

He nodded, approaching the sack. "It looks like Alyssa did what she was asked to do," he murmured quietly, as he opened the top of the sack a little to peer inside. "Stendarr have mercy, that stinks."

"If only she had arrived a little sooner...so Kodlak had died, at least, with his wish fulfilled," I murmured to myself. Though I had no desire of cleansing myself, a part of me felt guilty that I had not tried harder to defend Kodlak. Because of me, he was dead, and he was doomed to go to the Hunting Grounds.

_All he had wanted was to see the lights of Sovngarde,_ I thought. _And even he was not granted that. After all he has done for us...done for me..._

I heard the wolf snarl in my throat. I turned and left Jorrvaskr, my mind set only on one thing—Panjor was going to pay.

* * *

A full moon was rising in the sky. A fine night for a hunt. It was as though Hircine was smiling upon me, for the first time, in a long time.

I stalked forward, the grass crunching underneath my paws. It was a starlit night—the clouds were thin and wispy, and the wind was buffeting my fur. I tilted my head towards the twin moons high above and made a silent prayer that I would succeed.

The river roared around me. I could smell the spray that rose up from the churning water. Second Seed provided warm nights and lazy weather, and the scents of life always made me grind my teeth in lust. It had died somewhat after Skjor had gone to the Hunting Grounds, but still, sometimes, on nights like these, I couldn't resist slipping out for an hour or two and hunting with the wolves.

I heard movement just ahead. I pricked my ears and softly growled. A familiar scent wafted to me. Silver.

"You can't even have the courage to face me alone," I snarled in my normal voice.

"Come now, Aela, where would be the sense in that?"

His voice. By the Gods, I hadn't heard that voice in years...fifteen years. I lifted my head and growled, feeling the burn of hatred coursing through my veins. Beyond, the clumps of bracken and wildgrass shifted, and I watched in silence as not one, but ten figures now stepped from the shadows.

Ten. Gods, wasn't I outmatched today.

But for once, I was going to enjoy this. The wolf was furious—the beastblood roared in my ears, as loudly as a caged animal, and if it came to becoming feral, then I'd become feral, just for the sake of it.

I was a seventeen-year-old werewolf. I was more than matured. More than ready to face these Silver Hand bastards.

At their head walked Panjor. There was a cold, mirthless smile on his lips. A weathered face, one which I knew so well, and now so detested, was visible. He had thrown back his hood and left his helmet behind—glinting beneath his cloak was steel Nordic armour, cuffed with the fur of what I recognized to be wolves, and the edges plated with bright silver.

"Greetings, Aela," he said.

"Panjor," I responded, a snarl in my voice.

"So this," Panjor declared, "is where it ends."

"For you," I promised coldly.

Panjor smiled. "You are outnumbered, Huntress. You walked into another trap."

"No. A trap is for the unexpected." I curled back my lips, displaying my fangs. "I am far older, stronger and wiser than you last remember me, Panjor. Now you are growing old and cracked." Rage flooded through me. "At least Kodlak had the decency to come to battle and fight by himself."

Panjor softly chuckled. "Headstrong, just as you were, when you were just a sixteen-year-old girl in Rorikstead. First skinning your animal on your own. Hesitant, and afraid of failure." He looked at me in almost pride. "What a warrior you would have made, if you had signed on with the right people."

"The Companions are both honourable and loyal," I snarled. "More so than you were. You never told me the truth. You never told me where you were going."

"A mistake that I regret—if I could turn back the currents of Time, then I would have told you straight away who I was and what it was that we hunted." Panjor smiled. "I'm certain, with the little escapade with those wolves and the elk and your own blundering mistake, that you would have agreed right away."

The wolves—I had almost completely forgotten them.

I took a pace forwards, and heard the sounds of weapons being pulled from their sheaths, though I paid them no attention—and nor did he. "You know, Panjor," I growled, "What was the _real_ reason that you gave me those three streaks of evergreen warpaint?"

Panjor's eyes gleamed.

"I placed them as a reminder of the three wolves," he said. "But also, as a promise."

"A promise of what?"

"A promise of how many strokes of punishment you will be delivered, should we ever become enemies. Enough to break the prideful huntress of Whiterun Hold. Enough to break her, so she will face me in her rage." Panjor's voice was cold. "Three times. Three streaks of paint. Three lives. And ironically, those of wolves."

My eyes widened, and I took a few steps backward, out of shock alone. Three streaks...now three brands of guilt. Three brands of guilt, because of him. Because of Panjor, and my...my quick to anger. My heart's fire, burning as an inferno. Uncontrolled, as was the wolf.

"Taija, Samiith and Kodlak died, because of your _spite?_" I roared, and my voice thundered throughout my surroundings. Several of the younger Silver Hand warriors shifted uneasily, but Panjor was rigid as rock. "Because I defied you—unknowingly as I did so?"

"Three more wolves, dead." Panjor pulled down his bow from his shoulders. "And now a fourth will be added. Face it, Aela—your time has come at last. Hircine will not spare you this time."

"Ten is nothing to me."

"When, perhaps you are healthy and strong. But I saw Myrva stab you through. And the Dunmer Housecarl of the Jarl save your life. But potions take their toll—and you aren't quite as strong as you could be." Panjor's eyes gleamed. "All it'll take is for one arrow to find the space in your side where you were stabbed."

I had nearly forgotten about the stab wound. The healing potion had done its work, but I suspected that I was still physically recovering from the blow itself. My side ached, even my wolf form, though significantly less than in my human form, which was why I hadn't chosen to face Panjor as a two-legged, lightly-armoured woman.

"Why not face me, hunter to hunter?" I demanded. "Instead of hiding and letting others do your dirty work—as they appeared to have done today, and even back in Fellglow Keep?"

Panjor's jaw clenched. "I'm not a coward, if that's what you're suggesting."

"Then face me in open combat—warrior to warrior."

"Now that would simply be _unwise_." Panjor's' bow twirled in his fingertips. "And I like to be safe than sorry. I'm not so easily drawn into battle as the rest of my kinsmen are—that is how we survive. We strike when it is necessary."

"You are without honour."

"But we are successful—and in the end, that is what truly matters. Which, I'm afraid to say, you're going to find out soon enough, Companion." Panjor nodded, and I watched as the Silver Hand warriors began to spread out and close in on me. Their weapons thirsty for my blood.

"Farewell, daughter of the moon," Panjor said. When I looked back towards him, his arrow had been raised. He was going to kill me himself.

I bared my fangs. Or at least, try to.

_The very same words that he said to me, before he gave the command to fire._

But then I began to recognize the sound of pounding hoofbeats, echoing from behind Panjor. He frowned for a moment and glanced over his shoulder.

A shape sped over the bank—a huge horse galloped over the rise. On its back, the rider had bow already readied. Before Panjor could spin around completely, the rider had let loose their arrow, thudding straight into his shoulder. He cried out and fell backwards, dropping his bow. The Silver Hand spun around, alarmed, blades flashing. Then suddenly there was a hoarse, rage-filled bark, and the next moment, a familiar shaggy grey shape leapt up off the ground, bowled one Silver Hand warrior over, ducked beneath the sweeping blade of a second, and leapt to my side.

_Meeko?_ I thought, astonished. _Then that means..._

It was. The rider whirled around—in the moonlight, I saw that her hood was thrown back, her black eyes glittering with sheer fury, her scars more visible. She lowered her bow and swung Warrior around, sliding easily from the saddle and coming to stand beside me. Behind her, Warrior cantered some paces away, getting out of what I soon sensed would be a thick of fighting.

The Silver Hand began to recover from their surprise of my unexpected reinforcements. Panjor, grimacing, straightened, and pulled a black arrow from his shoulder with a horrible squelching sound. When he turned his eyes to Alyssa, I saw the blood drain from his face.

"Greetings, Panjor," she said. And I noticed that her voice seemed to tremble with some strange quality that I had not detected before. A quality that made the wolf within me suddenly cringe and whimper in fear.

"You..." Panjor's voice was soft with fear.

"Me," Alyssa confirmed icily. "And he'll be coming along soon enough."

I glanced at her, and she spared me a look. Resignation, fear...and a strange delight was gleaming in her eyes now.

"Time for the truth to come out," was all she said to me.

She turned back to Panjor and said, "Any last words?"

"Yes." Panjor straightened. "Kill them. All of them."

Meeko snarled. I sensed the power in Alyssa grow, and I glanced at her somewhat uncertainly, yet again.

Because things were starting to resurface in my mind.

The day that she had come to Jorrvaskr...the excitement she had felt upon learning she was going to Dustman's Cairn...the strange scorch marks that Skjor and I discovered there, and the odd rune-like wall which I remembered I had seen in Bonestrewn Crest.

Which I had seen the Dragonborn absorb something from.

The fear in Farkas's eyes. The way he had shouted at her in Jorrvaskr. The way that the guards stared at her and dipped their heads in respect to her...what Irileth had even been about to tell me.

And suddenly, in that single, breathtaking moment, _everything made sense_.

"_Hon zu Thu'um ahrk faas zu,_" Alyssa snarled, and then she had stepped forward.

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

The solid blue force exploded from her in a wild tide, spreading out. The Silver Hand screamed in terror. They were struck with the raw power, thrown backwards and knocked senseless. Panjor was knocked clean off his feet and landed heavily on his bad side, crying out in pain breathlessly as he did so. And I...I flinched from the devastating power that rolled from her form and was felt by me. I backed away, the wolf within me howling.

But it was true. Hope flared in me.

Alyssa was the Dragonborn.

She whirled around, her hand going to an arrow, and she threw it to the bowstring. Loosing it with devastating force against a Silver Hand's shield, so hard that he staggered, she glanced at me, her voice husky and deep with her rage, "Show them the rage of the wolf!"

In my mind, the wolf howled. A lust for the blood was rising in my throat. And with a roar, I hurled myself forward.

The Silver Hand were hardly ready for me. They fought to rise but I slammed one of them down, and sank my fangs deeply into his throat. The gush of warm blood flowed into my mouth and I savoured it. My Bloodlust was rising in uncontrollable amounts. I watched as the life died from the man beneath me—it had been so long since my wolf had tasted the flesh of men! Now I straightened and whirled around, a wild cry leaping from my throat, my claws stained crimson.

A silver blade swished towards me. I ducked from it. The Silver Hand warrior prepared to counter attack, but suddenly he cried out and staggered as a grey shaggy shape leapt up from the ground at him, slavering in anger, and fangs closing on his arm. Meeko bowled the man over from his weight and anger and began to savage him.

Leaving Meeko to take care of that Silver Hand scoundrel, I whirled around. Alyssa had not transformed—why would she need to?—and for a moment, I was caught up staring at her in awe.

This was a woman who had saved my life in Bonestrewn Crest. Who had slain many dragons, stolen many souls and knew many Shouts. Who had struck Alduin down and freed the dragons from Alduin's tyranny. Who had saved all of us.

And I realized that as she stood there, facing three Silver Hand warriors at once, she was not a wolf. She was a dragon—and for the first time, I saw fire, real fire, leaping and dancing in the dark depths of her eyes.

She twisted and danced, her black blade singing in the air, shining red with blood as she struck and stabbed at the Silver Hand warriors. They could not keep up with her speed. One soon fell dead. With a fierce snarl, Alyssa whirled around to face the second, drawing breath. "_Unt grah voth aan Dovahkiin!_" she hissed.

Unexpectedly, she threw back her head. "_OD-AH-VIING!_"

Her voice rippled through the air, and I felt the power strike all of us in shockwaves. The wolf in me cringed from the might and wrath of the dragon. The Silver Hand warriors, panicked, took a step back.

I remembered about the ones who had been knocked backwards by the Shout Alyssa had used moments before. They were dazed, but several were picking themselves back up, and two, I saw, had their bows drawn out and silver arrows were aimed straight at me. Just in time, I flung myself to the side—the arrows sped through the air and peppered onto the ground.

I looked back towards the archers. His face was drawn in pain but his eyes were flashing with rage.

"Come on!" Panjor shouted at me, almost inanely. "_Come on!_"

He was already drawing another arrow. I howled in rage—nothing but a sheer desire for spilling Panjor's blood was rippling through me now. I bounded forwards.

A silver blade swung out of nowhere and I leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding having my face slashed open. I dropped and rolled and bared my bloody fangs at the Silver Hand swordsman who was preparing to attack me again. With a huff of effort, he lunged. I leapt backwards—the blade whisked through the air. I countered with a powerful strike of my claws, which scratched five deep gauge marks in the banded iron shield he was wielding, and just managed to raise in his defense.

Then suddenly there was a burning pain in my side and I howled and drew back, the wolf in my cringing from pain. Gods-damn those archers! I struggled backwards, one clawed hand already going to the arrow embedded in my side and spreading a burning pain through my body. Another arrow whisked inches past my snout.

Gritting my fangs, I grasped the arrow and pulled it free, feeling a surge of blood wash from the wound. Snapping the arrow's body and throwing it aside, and uneasily staying on my paws, I watched as Panjor pulled a third arrow from his quiver, eyes betraying savage delight. He knocked it to the string and aimed. I tried to bound forward, but he had struck my bad side, and my whole body was gripped in an agonizing ache.

Then suddenly there was a rush of wind and a huge shadow fell over us. Panicked, we all looked up—in time to see a glint of fiery green eyes and a rumbling roar fill all of our ears. I howled in total terror, and adrenalin pulsing through my body, I leapt away. There was a rush of wind above me, a wild scream, and then the sheer force had swept away again. I looked up, to see a mighty dragon turning the air beneath his wings, and release a struggling Silver Hand warrior midflight, and he fell, screaming, to the ground.

Odahviing...the name echoed in my mind, and I realized that this was the dragon who Alyssa had called to Dragonsreach five months ago. In the moonlight, I could see the red shine in his scales, his indigo-and-white wings beating powerfully on either side of his lean, scaled body. He swept around, roaring in a powerful and guttural voice, "_Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin! Mu fen fundein faal nah do faal dov ol gein!_"

A dragon...by the Gods, Alyssa could control a _dragon?_

The huge red creature swept over us once again, and I heard Alyssa roar somewhere to my right, "_Ofan hokoronne niid aaz, Odah!_"

"_Geh, Dovahkiin, fen yol! Nust fen ag!_" A strange light was glittering in Odahviing's eyes, and then suddenly he swept low, drawing himself to a hover, huge wings flapping above me.

Old experience with fighting a dragon had taught me to realize that when a dragon drew himself to hover, he was going to unleash total devastation on his surroundings. With a whimper, I tried to limp away, but the dragon's eyes snapped down towards me and he growled, "_Drem, grohiik. Hio lost nid wah faas! Hio grahzeymahzin do faal Dovahkiin—hio ni zu hokoron._"

Well, I had absolutely no idea what the dragon was saying, but he had said 'Dovahkiin', so I had a little hope.

Odahviing's glittering eyes turned to the Silver Hand warriors behind me and in a thundering voice, he roared, "_YOL TOOR SHUL!_"

Fire leapt from his jaws in an unrelenting tide, and embers flew. I howled in terror, pulling myself away from the deadly blast and cowering on the smoldering grass. I heard panicked, terrified screams echo behind me and a rush of boiling warmth roll over my black fur.

When at last the terrifying blast ended, I heard a rush of wings and then Odahviing was pulling himself through the air. I dared myself to look up—three charred, twisted corpses were all that were left of three Silver Hand warriors, now lying in a heap of ashes. A foul odour of burnt flesh filled my nostrils and I gagged.

Then I noticed that a figure was trying to stumble away from the fight. I didn't need to look twice to know that it was Panjor, and a howl of total rage echoed in my throat. "COWARD!" I bellowed, rising to my paws to follow him.

The remaining, and badly shaken, Silver Hand warriors loomed in front of me, but then I heard Meeko's bark sound nearby. The dog bounded past me on a dead run, slamming straight into another Silver Hand warrior and knocking him clean off his booted feet. Odahviing circled above, letting a chilling roar escape his jaws. And then I heard Alyssa shout, her voice husky but nonetheless very powerful, "Go! Get after that _nivahriin bron! _Show him the _bah do faal grohiik_! The wrath of the wolf!"

Without hesitation, I began to bound, my pain suddenly forgotten in the sheer thrill of the chase. The grass flew beneath my churning paws—Panjor could not hope to outrun a wolf of the wilderness, not even a hurt one. My heart pounded in my throat.

Behind me, I distantly heard Alyssa roar in the dragon's tongue, "_Kom oblaan daar grah, Odah_."

United, behind me, I heard them roar in two Voices, "_FAAS RU MAAR_!"

Whatever those words meant, I didn't know and I didn't care to know. All that I knew was that suddenly, what was left of the Silver Hand warriors began to scream the most awful, bloodcurdling screams of terror that I had ever heard.

But now I was focusing upon only one point of a man's terror. He glanced back towards me, and saw that I was approaching him. Panicked, he tried to raise his bow and a silver arrow, but then suddenly, a thrill of energy raced through my body. I pushed myself into the air just as the arrow sang.

It missed—skidded past my shoulder and shot upwards towards the stars.

And that was when I crashed down on Panjor, throwing him to the ground, and digging my claws into his shoulders, pinning him there.

And that was when I realized...

It was over.

I had caught him.

He stared up at me, open terror evident in his eyes, struggling slightly but relenting because of the intense pain it would bring him. My claws, in their fury and hatred, had driven right through them, scraping on the bone and tearing through tendon. Blood welled beneath my touch.

I gazed at him, my mind pondering on how I was going to make him suffer. Pure rage was flooding through me. More than anything, I wanted to tear out his throat and rip apart his insides, feast on his flesh and his blood. The wolf was urging me on, howling for the task to be done. To show him the wrath of the wolf.

But killing him would not bring the ones I had lost back.

I was breathing heavily. My wound was aching hugely on my side, where the arrow had reopened the still-healing stab wound. For a long moment, he and I simply stared at each other. Bronze eyes, glaring at Panjor's dull green.

_Kill him,_ snarled the wolf in me. _Kill him, and let him know what it feels like, for the first time, to be the one trapped under the jaws of a wolf._

Panjor lay under me, his breaths laboured. He was waiting.

I was hesitating.

Why was I hesitating? I had been dreaming of this day for fifteen years. Ever since he killed Samiith. Since he killed Taija, and lured me and Skjor to Gallows Rock. There, he hadn't been there—running like the coward that he was. Since he killed Kodlak—red fury washed over my eyes for a moment. Then, they died—and a strange and merciless decision had settled in my mind.

"For years," I whispered to him, "I've been waiting for this. When I could see you _suffer_. Pay for all the pain that you have caused me."

"You deserve it," Panjor murmured. "You, and all your foul kind. You're just dogs, hiding in the skins of men and women. Curses and minions of the Daedric Lord Hircine."

"We're His Hounds," I snarled. "But Lupa is our mother. The wolf-wife, mother of all wolves. And she is dissatisfied with you, Panjor. Hircine demands your death—you've been irksome with His Hounds, and you are yet to discover the true wrath of a Daedric Prince."

"Kill me, then—I'll have suffered, just like you wanted."

And that was when I let my wolf smile. "I'm not going to kill you," I told him quietly.

Panjor frowned, immediately cautious. "So...so what? You're going to let me go? Run, like a mouse would flee from the cat's paws? You're going to hunt me like an animal?"

I laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, no, better than _that_," I growled. "To kill you was my original intention. But now, I have a much better idea on what to do with you. I'm going to let Hircine punish you himself."

Panjor's eyes widened in total terror, and feebly he struggled. "Please," he croaked. "Please...no..."

"Yes," I snarled, my voice deepening into a dark, menacing growl. Then, I surged forward, and clamped my jaws heavily into his shoulder.

Panjor cried out. I drove my fangs in deeper. Not deep enough to kill him. But deep enough for the wrath of the wolf to come into play. He struggled and thrashed wildly beneath me, but I held still, my greater weight pinning him into place.

Then, when I felt his movements cease, I pulled away from him, to see that his eyes were wide, his face was drawn and terrified.

_Be born,_ I growled as the wolf, _beneath the shine of the moons._

I stepped back from him—the twin moons shone their moonshine upon him, and the change came almost immediately.

He tried to climb to his feet, but he struggled, fighting against something that I knew only he could feel. I watched icily as he began to thrash, gasping for breath, moaning softly. He struggled across the grass, tearing clumps of it under his hands in his agony.

Then, I watched as his body began to mutate. He threw his head down—his bones were cracking and reforming beneath his skin. He howled in pain, and each time he did so, his howls only grew deeper and throatier. His eyes began to shimmer bronze. His hands became clawed and hairy. His clothes and armour tore apart, and with a cry of pain he fought to tear his silver-lined armour plates off his body as they began to sting and burn his skin.

I watched as the transformation ended, and a wild, wolf-like whimper burst from his jaws.

The newborn wolf slumped, teetering uncertainly on his four paws, bronze eyes displaying confusion and discomfort. He was thin and his cobalt fur shone in the moonlight. His tail swept between his legs and his eyes looked up towards me. Questioning. Confused.

I bared my fangs at him and he yelped, puppy-like, scrambling away from me on paws he was still trying to get accustomed to. But I would spare him no mercy.

_Run,_ I snarled. _Run, far away. Run until you cannot run any further. And should you dare return here, then I will not hesitate to kill you._

The newborn flinched and whimpered, ears flattened in submission. He turned, starting to gain control of his legs, bounding across the grasses. When he discovered his newfound speed, he ran faster. Within only a few moments, he was just a dark flickering shadow, fleeing for his life across the wild windswept plains of Whiterun Hold, until he was gone.

I felt the tang of his blood in my mouth and savoured it.

"It is done, then," I heard Alyssa say softly behind me.

I turned back towards her. Her eyes were calm, devoid of the fire I had seen before. She was staring after where my old mentor, now a frightened puppy, had vanished into the wilderness. Her arms were folded.

"Yes," I murmured. "It is done."

It was done. My task to Hircine, done.

Panjor was gone.

The lives of my pack brothers and sister were avenged.

I heard a shifting, deep sigh sound behind me. I glanced cautiously over my shoulder, to find myself staring into a pair of burning green eyes that stared at me from a huge, red horned head.

And I knew there was one matter of business which I needed to sort out, before I could return.

"Alyssa," I said quietly, "why did you never tell me that you were the Dragonborn?"

* * *

Draconic Translations:

Hon zu Thu'um ahrk faas zu - _hear my voice and fear me_

Unt grah voth aan Dovahkiin! - _try battle with a Dovahkiin!_

Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin! Mu fen fundein faal nah do faal dov ol gein! - _Greetings, Dragonborn! We will unfurl the fury of the dragons as one!_

Ofan hokoronne niid aaz, Odah! - _Give our enemies no mercy, Odah!_

Geh, Dovahkiin, fen yol! Nust fen ag! - _Yes, Dragonborn, with fire! They will burn!_

Drem, grohiik. Hio lost nid wah faas! Hio grahzeymahzin do faal Dovahkiin—hio ni zu hokoron - _Peace, wolf. You have nothing to fear! You are ally to the Dragonborn—you are not my enemy._

Nivahriin bron - _cowardly Nord_

Kom oblaan daar grah, Odah - _let's end this battle, Odah_.

* * *

**A/N: And that's that! Do tell me what you think! :D Truths and learning a bit more about Alyssa next chapter! :D REEEVIEW! I want to hit 150 reviews! PLEEEASE...Shout is Out.**


	64. Chapter 63 - Revelations

**A/N: I won't keep you waiting...onward!**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Three

Alyssa bowed her head, her eyes lowered with uncertainty and even anxiety.

"How do I begin?"

"_Dovahkiin_," I heard the dragon growl, glancing at her in what appeared to be concern. To my surprise, he suddenly switched to the common tongue—though I remembered he could speak it. "You do not have to explain yourself..."

"For Aela, I do," Alyssa responded quietly. "I've kept too many things from her."

She looked back at me. "No longer. I'll...I'll come clean, here, now."

There was a pause. Then, in the silence, I rose up on my hind legs, reining in the wolf. Melting back into my skin, even as the wolf whimpered in protest, I told her, "Perhaps explaining why you never told the rest of us you were the Dragonborn is the best place to start."

Alyssa nodded slowly. "Yes. I...I suppose that is."

With a quiet sigh, she said, "But...well, I think some of what I have to say may shock you."

"Go ahead, Alyssa," I told her firmly. "I'll listen."

She was silent only for a moment. Then:

"Do you...do you remember me telling you about how my farm was ransacked by the Dominion?"

I nodded, and frowned. "Was there a reason behind the ransacking? The killing of your family?"

"Yes." Alyssa drew a shaky breath. "You see...we were Dragonborns. All of us."

I hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"I've known all my life I was Dragonborn," Alyssa said quietly. "We...well, we all knew that we were. Bearers of the Dragon Blood."

I stared in disbelief at her. "How is that possible? Dragonborns..."

"I know the legends," Alyssa frowned. "That a Dragonborn comes only once every Age. Dragonborns like Tiber Septim, I think you mean. Dragonborn can be an abbreviated term for someone who possesses the Dragon Blood."

"Which would make the Septims Dragonborns, technically, though Tiber Septim was the only recognized one," I guessed. "But...but the Septims were the only Dragon Blood family in the history of Nirn. Are you telling me that there was another family, hidden?"

Alyssa shook her head. "Only one."

"Then how...?"

And that was when the truth dawned, and it struck me in the guts as though I had been slammed by a warhammer. Shocked, I took a step backwards, and said shakily, "Your family...you're Septims. Your family are the Septim heirs!"

Slowly, Alyssa nodded.

"But how? The heirs were all killed off in the Oblivion Crisis!" Nothing was making the slightest of sense right now.

Alyssa's eyes hardened. "That was what Tacita led the people to think...to protect the future generations."

"Tacita?"

"Champion of Cyrodiil, Tacita Laryssin," Alyssa explained. "She...well, she and Martin were...good friends. Lovers, throughout the length of the Oblivion Crisis. Eight months after Martin became the mighty Avatar of Akatosh, Tacita had a daughter. Sirsmia Laryssin. Daughter of Martin Septim. Dragonborn."

"And heir to the throne," I said quietly. "So why didn't she take it? Why aren't your family on the throne? The Septims were the greatest rulers that ever existed—the Empire has crumbled in the wake of their deaths, and you're telling me that your family were the throne's heirs! Why didn't you take it? The Great War might have even been avoided!"

Alyssa suddenly scowled. "Because otherwise, the process would only begin again."

"Process?" I echoed.

"The _Dovahyol_," Odahviing stated, in his rumbling, guttural voice, taking me by surprise. "The Dragonfire," he translated for me. "It is rekindled with the ascension of a _joor dovah_, a mortal dragon. A _Dovahkiin_. A Dragonborn—as these 'Sep-teems' were."

"You mean, you'd risk relighting the Dragonfires if a Septim claimed the throne?" I asked.

Alyssa nodded. "Martin had sealed shut the Gates of Oblivion with his sacrifice. He sealed it shut with something Tacita called, 'Dragonsong'—an unworldly melody." She and Odahviing exchanged a glance, and I saw caution and fear creep into both their eyes. Obviously, this 'Dragonsong' was something that even the dragons feared to use.

"What exactly is Dragonsong?" I asked uncertainly.

"It is a form of Aedric Sealing," Odahviing responded. "To use Dragonsong means to seal away a great and devastating power. It is _zahrahmiik_, sacrifice—only able to be done by direct descendants of Akatosh, the deity of the Aedra and father to all_ dov,_ dragonkind, in the form of _lovaas_, song. It is a power that destroys as well as seals—all _dov_, even Alduin, fear to use it."

"It basically extinguishes the fire in the _dovahsos_, Dragonblood," Alyssa explained. "As a result, Martin was turned to stone—and his spirit is still trapped within its core, so he cannot even visit his fathers in Aetherius. He was not lost to time, as the _dov_ are when they die, but rather, trapped, preserved." She shuddered. "_Grounded_."

Odahviing looked awfully afraid of this prospect as well. I frowned, glancing between the pair of them. "Look, I'm not a dragon here," I said, almost irritably. "I don't understand certain terms like you do."

"Sorry," Alyssa apologized. "But...dragons are creatures who are born to fly. To be grounded...it is torturous. Legend says that Father Akatosh created us and gave us the fire and fury of the sun, but Kynareth gave us our wings and the wind and the passion for flight. All dragons cannot stand being on the ground, not when their father flies high above them and their mother whispers to them in the air."

Her eyes became thoughtful, and I could see the bittersweet joy glittering in her dark depths. "And when a dragon first takes flight...they never lose the experience. _Ever_. And that desire only grows...it grows until it's unbearable."

I sensed something deeper of this, and not only by the pained way that she seemed to speak, and the anxious expression Odahviing wore on his grizzled red face. I waited for her to speak, and I did not have to wait long. Drawing a shaky breath, Alyssa said softly, "The night...the night I received my scars and who I appear as now..."

She looked up towards the stony crest of the Throat of the World. "Paarthurnax—the elder dragon who resides at the crest, leader of the Greybeards and brother of Alduin—was waiting for me. The Time Wound was mine to enter. So I opened the Elder Scroll and was plunged backwards through Time."

I struggled to conceal my amazement. She had obtained an _Elder Scroll!?_

"I came back, with the Shout that renders dragons grounded—truly, the most terrible Shout that the Nords used," Alyssa went on quietly. Odahviing gave a shiver of fear. "And when I returned, the knowledge resting in my mind, Alduin came to the slopes."

"The twenty-fifth of Evening Star last year," I breathed. "We could hear you...and we knew you were facing the World-Eater."

"Aye—that was the night that a part of me just..." Alyssa's face became shadowed with loss. "That was the night when I really felt like I had lost everything.

"My mother, grandfather, father and sister died in fire—told me to run. And I did run. I fled from the burning Estate and I ran to Skyrim seeking for refuge." Alyssa placed a hand over her chest, and vaguely, I remembered her showing me a golden dragon pendant, on the same day that she became a member of the Circle. "The woman who first entered Skyrim...she was not me. She was someone completely different. Not just physically, but spiritually.

"That woman died on the slopes of the Throat of the World that night. She faced Alduin as the Dragonborn. She cried in the dragon's tongue and struck him down upon the sacred slopes of the mountain of peace. When I tired, Paarthurnax defended me until I summoned the strength to Shout again. And when Alduin refused to land...I Shouted Dragonrend. The Shout that grounds the _dov_. The Shout that all dragons fear.

"Then he and I fought, fang to blade. But that fight did not last long. Alduin laughed, then, and he said that I was going to die, for he knew magics unlike anything the world had seen. He was the World-Eater—I underestimated his power. So did Paarthurnax. Then..."

She was visibly trembling now. "His claws came out, and he struck me across the face."

I had a hand over my mouth. The scars...Alduin had given her those scars?

"I fell—I fell into dark dreams and dreams of shadow," Alyssa softly went on. "It was agony unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. I heard him laughing, and I heard the dragons screaming inside. The dragons that I had slain then—many of them. And they were all full of rage, and they sought to emerge. They sought to overwhelm me and kill me. Alduin sensed that he would succeed in killing me by the use of his curse, by sending the darkness of his own soul into my own to destroy me.

"I don't know how long I lay there. How long I had to resist. It felt like eternity. I was frightened of the pain, but I was frightened it was going to fade and I was going to fall into cold. That night, the Dragonborn who the world knew as their saviour died.

"But in the darkness, my father reached out to me, and I struggled towards his light. The darkness threatened to hold me back, but the light burned ahead. Light that promised one glorious thing; hope. And it was then that I awoke on the Throat of the World—and I was reborn."

She lifted her face, and in the moonshine, I saw her scars in great and haunting clarity. The terrible scars of Alduin's claws, tearing from jaw to forehead, the darkness of her eyes and her black hair. "And though I felt my face was on fire, torn apart and bleeding, I still roared defiance at Alduin. I still roared that I would fight him and face him, even though something wasn't right. And though I felt as though I were dying inside, I still defeated Alduin and sent him fleeing from the slopes of the mountain.

"But when silence fell I felt my strength was waning. It was a miracle I managed to climb down the slopes at all, half-fall into the monastery. I didn't know what had happened physically to me. I spent two days in High Hrothgar...the Masters tended to my injuries but even they were horrified at what had happened. They thought Alduin had tried to corrupt my very soul with the shadows of his own, and to do that, my soul would not be mine—it would be his to devour. They mended the wounds on my face, but when I first looked at myself after the ordeal..."

"Alyssa, I...I never realized..." I murmured softly. I had almost forgotten I was here.

"Alduin's curse," Alyssa murmured. "_Alduindur_. It tore away nearly the only thing that I had left—my own appearance. He marred it and changed it, until I look like a demon from the depths of Oblivion. I knew that I had to find and kill Alduin, but he spiritually affected me. He brought back the despair I had tried to leave behind. But remembering the people who looked out for me, who were my family...I had to hope.

"I went home to the Guild...they didn't recognize me, either. Not until I showed them my amulet. And then they had no idea what to say to me. They had no idea how to treat their Guildmaster...Karliah already knew of my family's secret, and Gods bless her, she was the one who really helped me through it, trying to cope with who I was now."

I frowned. "How did she know your family's secret?"

Alyssa gave a small, rueful smile at this.

"Tacita didn't just have one child," she said. "Shortly after receiving her title, she met an adventurer and a scholar named Jordan Desidenius. They got married—Tacita lied about Sirsmia's age and let the people believe that Sirsmia was the daughter of Jordan, and Jordan let the people believe Sirsmia was his. He had a son with Tacita—Talin Marty, who took the name Desidenius, while Sirsmia remained Laryssin. An Age later...well, the Desidenius family still knew the Laryssins' secret, just not very well, and Gallus...he was a scholar, mastermind and master thief. He told Karliah about the Laryssins, his several-times-removed-or-so cousins, and when she was forced to run for her life from the Guild...well, naturally, she came to the Estate. The first time she saw me, I was just a babe in my mother's arms and Zara was five."

Zara...that had to be Alyssa's sister.

"But Gallus doesn't sound Nordic," I said quietly.

"He wasn't—he was an Imperial." Alyssa shrugged. "Tacita was an Imperial—I'm not entirely certain how the bloodline shifted from Imperial to Nordic, but it must have come with the Laryssins serving as Blades and as secret Dragonborn heirs in the Temple, and being so close to Bruma...well, I guess you can imagine what might happen.

"So...how many bloods exactly flow in your veins?" I asked.

She frowned thoughtfully. "I have the Dragon Blood...Imperial blood, definitely, they're my roots; Nordic—I'm resistant to the cold like them, so obviously the blood is in me, and there are several generations of Nords in me...and now the beastblood."

I frowned. "But there's something I don't understand," I said. "Why did you take the beastblood if you knew you were Dragonborn—why didn't you tell us how dangerous that could be? I can remember the way that it reacted with you..."

Alyssa fell strangely quiet at this. Odahviing appeared glum as well.

When she didn't speak at once, Odahviing took over for her, and turning towards me, he rumbled, "She took her first flight on the last day of the two-hundred-and-second year of the Fourth Era—a flight upon my back, when I carried her to the temple, Skuldafn, where my former Lord had escaped into the land of Sovngarde. It was her first flight—and then, she was grounded again, most likely for the rest of her life."

_Grounded..._I was starting to appreciate how dreadfully meaningful this was to dragons.

"I had no wings, like Odah had," Alyssa murmured. "At first, it didn't matter—I had to stop the World-Eater and I was so close. The fate of Nirn rested on my shoulders...the lives of countless, relying on my Nightingale Blade and Bow to save them. I entered Sovngarde..."

"You really entered that place?" I asked, unable to stop myself. Though I knew perfectly well I wasn't going there when I died...I could still picture the stories and the glory.

Alyssa gave me a genuine smile. "It was _magnificent_. Truly magnificent. When the fogs of Alduin's soul-snares were lifted, it was indescribably beautiful, and made me all the more resentful that I had become a Nightingale. No Evergloam of Nocturnal's could truly match the light and glory of Sovngarde."

Her smile faded. "I made my way to the Halls of Valour. Battled Tsun, keeper of the Whalebone Bridge. I stepped into the Hall—and almost immediately, there was Ysgramor, there to greet me."

I tried very hard not to drop my jaw. "You...you saw Ysgramor?"

"Aye," Alyssa affirmed softly. "Wielding mighty Wuuthrad upon his shoulders, he bowed his head and welcomed me to the Halls. There, I met with many."

"Who did you see?" I couldn't resist asking.

"Many figures, thought legend even to me, existed there. I met Jurgen Windcaller, founder of the Greybeards. I met the three Ancient Nord Heroes who first, subconsciously, gave me Dragonrend, Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt and Felldir the Old. I even met Olaf One-Eye, former Jarl of Whiterun." Alyssa's eyes grew distant. "But there were dragons in the halls—dragons of my Father's gold. My family..."

"Your family were there?"

She nodded. "All of them—right at the very beginning, with Sirsmia. Right down to the last. Zara. My sister." A tear rolled from her eye, and Alyssa brushed it away. "My family, my beloved family who had died to the Dominion...they were there in Sovngarde, and they gave me strength, and they told me to become who I was meant to be. I didn't realize what they meant until I was facing Alduin down on the battlefield.

"But this was the land of departed, the valley of souls. Though I was changed, I was still myself—I still knew who I was, and in my blood my fire rekindled. Alduin faced me and I faced him...and when my frail and mortal body was not enough, it was then that I became what my family had been teaching me to be all my life—teaching me and Zara to become, all our lives."

"What happened?" I asked softly.

A strange light came into her eyes. "I became Akatosh's Daughter. And I struck Alduin down, and defeated him, and the light returned to Sovngarde. And when I went back to the Throat of the World, as the day turned to that of Year 203, the dragons sang my praises. They rose into the sky to express their joy. They blessed me for freeing them from Alduin's tyranny and vanished."

Alyssa and Odahviing exchanged a glance. "Odah promised his aid," she said. "And I promised him a future of purpose."

"I learn by the teachings of _Ofanod Paarthurnax,_" Odahviing said, bashfully dipping his head. "And I do not learn alone—two others atop the peak are learning the ways of pity, and we follow the Way of the Voice."

The warm expression vanished from Alyssa's face after a moment, and she lowered her eyes.

"But I was changed—the experience in Sovngarde was enough to change any mortal who had been alive in a land of the dead," she murmured softly. "And when I found that I was so reluctant to descend to the ground—" She shook her head restlessly. "I was so desperate to touch the skies again, the way that I had experienced when I rode on Odah. I stayed in High Hrothgar—the Greybeards tried to teach me to control these urges, but these were something they could not help me with. Take the wings from a dragon and they would rather die than live on if they cannot reach the sky again.

"Every night I climbed to the very top of the Throat of the World and stared into the sky...I couldn't shake the feeling of flight, and nor could I shake the feeling of seeing my family again. My family, who I had watched die before me...they were there, and I was so close to them again...it only tore my heart apart. And this went on for a week, until I felt as though I was growing mad.

"Then Paarthurnax gave me advice—he told me to descend to the ground and learn to live among the _joorre_ again. The dragons in me had awakened, and my love for the heat of battle had to be abated before I could possibly return to the life I had known as a thief and an assassin—"

"Assassin?" I interrupted.

"_Ofandinok_," Odahviing translated. "Of the Brotherhood of Darkness..."

"The Dark Brotherhood, Odah," said Alyssa, in slight exasperation, and also caution. She shot me a glance, waiting for my reaction. "I...I'm an assassin, too, as well as a thief."

"Of the Dark Brotherhood." I wasn't really sure what to think right now. She was Dragonborn, bastard heir to the throne, been to Sovngarde, met _Ysgramor_, and now she was an assassin, too.

Alyssa ruefully and mirthlessly laughed. "Not what you'd immediately imagine Ysmir to do for a living," she stated. "Daughter of the Aedra, serving Sithis and Nocturnal?"

"Even I thought you couldn't sink any lower than being an assassin as well as a thief..."

"I have to admit, I thought the same thing after I..." Alyssa hesitated—but before I could say anything, she was speaking again. Trying hard to overcome what secrets she had left. "...After I killed the Emperor."

"It was you..." I stared at her. "You're the Nord woman in the mask..."

"Aye," she quietly affirmed. "And I'm not proud of what I've done."

"You shouldn't be. What kind of Dragonborn kills the Emperor?"

"I...I thought the same, to be honest." Alyssa looked away. "I was disgusted with myself...I quit the Brotherhood not long after his death. Walked out on them and promised never to return to the Dawnstar Sanctuary. I was done with everything to do with that place. Done with the Brotherhood—done with being Listener, done with serving Sithis, done with being a taker of lives."

"Your job in Falkreath, then," I presumed darkly.

She nodded. "But...not anymore. Even though I didn't exactly _enjoy_ being an assassin like the others did...they were a family to me. Just like the Guild is to me."

"And the Companions?" I challenged. "Are they a family, too? Or are they only dens of crime lords?"

"You have no idea how much the Companions mean to me!" Alyssa fired back, sounding, to my astonishment, hurt. "Especially you, Aela...you haven't realized it, but you have saved me...you saved my very soul!"

There was a brief pause in which I let my confusion show through.

"How?"

"So it is true, then," Odahviing rumbled, turning to glance at Alyssa. "You truly are a _grohiik_."

Alyssa nodded. "Aye. And it was necessary."

"Necessary?" I echoed.

"Let me explain, please—I came to the Companions after Alduin's demise to try to exert the dragon's anger that remained in me. That lust for open combat, for battle, a _dovah's rahgol_, that diminishes only through long periods of meditation, or by exerting it until exhaustion. I would have gladly taken Paarthurnax's teachings—but with such a powerful and unhealthy desire to return to the sky and my family, it was important for me to get back down to the ground as soon as possible, and to let my body become accustomed to the fact I was never going to fly again.

"It started working. The more contracts I took, the more aggression I exerted, the calmer and more controlled I became of my inner self when I was alone, the safer I could be around the people of Whiterun and around everyone. I kept in contact with my other families. Had to go to the Sepulcher, uphold my oath, sometime in...Sun's Dawn, I believe? Several months ago, nonetheless. But I still..." Alyssa paused, struggling for words. "I was still _discontent_. Something just refused to leave. I still didn't feel...whole. Right. Healed.

"Many times I wanted to go back to the Throat of the World—but Odahviing—" Here, Alyssa threw her large draconic servant a dark-eyed frown "—refused to let me climb it. Each time I'd come, he'd just throw me back."

"Er..._throw _you?"

"It is an expression, _grohiik_," said Odahviing. "I did not throw the _Dovahkiin_—why would I do that? What she meant was I would simply...become an obstacle."

Alyssa rolled her eyes, sighed, and went on. "But it was necessary, I suppose. And then, I discovered that you were wolves...You were creatures of the forest, creatures of the wild...creatures of the _earth_. Animals who desired nothing more than to be on the _face_ of their world! And that night, when I stepped into the Underforge and was given a choice at becoming a wolf...I took it."

"Because you wanted to lose your desire of flight for the earth," I guessed carefully.

Alyssa nodded. "I was...uncertain, though, how the blood of two creatures would react in one mortal body. Especially one torn by the talons of a Nordic God. What would happen to me? Would I survive the transformation if there was one? Would I even accept the blood or would it just kill me then and there, like a piece of foul magic gone sour? And the souls...a wolf soul and a dragon soul are so different. One is earth, and the other is sky. Two borders that must remain apart from one another, that must physically stay away for each other to exist. I...I was uncertain what was going to happen if the wolf tried to claim domination over my own spirit. What would happen to me then?

"But it was the only way. The desires were growing—and I couldn't shake them, especially after absorbing the Word of Power in Dustman's Cairn. But hey, at least I can breathe fire like a true _dovah_ now...where was I? Yes...I drank your blood." She looked steadily at me and said, "I didn't do it for power, or because I felt I had to by a Prince. I did it because I felt it was necessary for my healing. By drinking your blood, by receiving the soul..."

"Did it work?" I asked quietly. Remembering her night of dark, twisted dreams, I added softly, "What really happened when you passed into...unconsciousness? Did the Princes really...?"

Alyssa slowly nodded. "Not just the Princes," she murmured. "I left out the part...no, I also felt the changes. The pain of it...Gods, the pain of when the sky and earth meet...it tore open old wounds and nearly destroyed me inside.

"What happened that night, really? The blood and soul of the wolf met the blood and soul of the dragon. Fierce rivals, they fought—and they fought long and hard for dominance inside of me.

"I could do nothing. Only watch, only wait, only feel the pain. When souls fight...it's different from the way that we fight, with physical weapons, and I can't find the words to explain it. But this isn't your body being torn apart by wounds. It's the very fabrics of your mental existence. The core of you that makes you who you are. Who you will be in the afterlife. And they were fighting—fighting for dominance, seeking to destroy each other. Close to destroying their host."

She closed her eyes and shuddered. "They fought long and hard. I don't know how long. But then the dragon dominated—the sky was always above the earth. The wolf was reluctant. The dragon negotiated—my kin have always been so arrogant in the way of language. Then, they settled. The dragon was still my soul, my core, who I was—and the wolf stalked the darker depths of myself, waiting for permission to emerge from the shadows.

"You wonder why I call him Vargur, Aela? He's not my soul. He isn't _me_. He's another soul, comfortably living in the wake of another soul that already was the core of the flesh body. And when I unleash him, when the dragon steps back and allows the wolf to triumph, morphing my body into the wolf, that's when the wolf is a part of me. That's when I am of the earth, when I am a creature of the ground, beneath the sky...and contented for it. When Vargur tires, he draws back, and the dragon returns, and I return. The urges...they come back, as well...

"But the bringing of Vargur in to my life has brought something that was so desperately needed after my fight with Alduin—_balance_. _Ro_, in my kin's tongue. It was something I had been seeking, and now something I had found. Now, I was walking along the line of contentment on both the ground and under the sky, once again a contented _joorkiir_, mortal child, of the dragons. Because of you, Aela, I have healed at last from my encounter with Alduin, from the stretching of my wings."

She smiled at this, a smile of total happiness, and said, "I'll always be in your debt, Aela, for what you did, for what you gave me. You gave me freedom, something that I had not experienced in the same way before as a dragon could. There was balance once again in my life, and now I know, more or less, who I am."

Something became clear. "That's why you didn't tell us that you were Dovahkiin, or that you were an...well, an assassin, or a thief before...why you wouldn't tell us anything. You were still trying to find yourself."

Alyssa nodded. "Becoming a Companion gave me the answers. Becoming a werewolf gave me the necessary component to recover from my mad and hopeless desires." She absently stroked Odahviing's scaled snout. "Now I'm not afraid anymore. Not afraid of telling the truth."

"Are you coming back to Jorrvaskr?"

Alyssa hesitated. "I...I'm not sure."

"Please, come back. The others...they need you more than ever, Alyssa. Kodlak's dead. We're without a leader—"

"I'm not a leader," Alyssa said quietly. "Not...not a leader of warriors."

"You manage thieves pretty well," I retorted.

"Thieves and warriors are quite different—"

"_Dovahkiin_," Odahviing said gently, flicking bright green eyes towards Alyssa. "Listen to the _grohiik_. It would be wise for you to return to the Companions. They are in need of a _dovah_ to guide a _tah do grohiikke_. Pack of wolves," he translated for me, seeing my bemused expression.

Alyssa looked uncertain. "I failed them. Kodlak, especially. Because of my...my lost senses."

"You have found them again," Odahviing said. "The Companions, they need you, as much as the Guild does. You are a warrior who they have respected and revered for generations. A _Dovahkiin_—the _Dovah do faal Brom_. They, especially Farkas, will forgive you."

I frowned. "How do you know about the Companions so well, dragon?"

"He and I, we share a connection," Alyssa said softly to me. "A soulbond. It allows us to speak through the mind, over great distances. Dragons possess this ability to connect their souls, if they have particularly close kinship with one another. And Odah and I...well..."

"The _Dovahkiin_ turned my life around, and I am indebted to her," Odahviing rumbled. "I am honoured to be a soulbonded _dovah_, particularly to the _feyn do Alduin_. Bane of Alduin—_krosis_. I forget you cannot speak like us, _Bron_." He dipped his head to Alyssa and said, "I will take my leave, _Dovahkiin_. It is near dawn, and meditation begins early this day."

"Of course, Odah. _Kogaan wah hio, zu fahdon_." She stroked his grizzled snout, and stepped back, as Odahviing rose onto his hind legs and unfolded enormous patterned blue-and-white wings. In a whirl of wind, stirring a cloud of dust, he leapt into the air, his wings beating on either side of his slender, powerful body. I watched, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the small dust storm he had roused, as Odahviing took flight gracefully back into the sky, letting a haunting draconic melody escape his lips as he made his way to the crest of the magnificent Throat of the World.

Alyssa and I were alone.

We looked at each other, and the first thing I said was, "I never realized what...what anything...anything that had happened to you..."

"It's all right now," Alyssa said quietly. "The Guild, the Companions...they're my families. Two who I will gladly lay down my life for. I know that the Laryssins, the _yuvon dov_, will be waiting for me in Sovngarde when I die."

"But the Hunting Grounds...Evergloam..."

"Vargur is not a part of me. He will go to the Hunting Grounds upon my death and release. I, however, will not. And as for Evergloam, I met my ancestor, Tacita—she was one of the earliest Nightingales of Nocturnal, and yes, the Champion of Cyrodiil was indeed a thief. The notorious Gray Fox, at that. Don't look so surprised, Aela—I'm the Dragonborn and I'm the Guild's leader, more or less Tacita's successor. She came from Evergloam to Sovngarde. There is a way to break from the chains of Nocturnal's realm, and she wasn't even a daughter of the Aedra."

Alyssa knelt down and patted Meeko's head. The shaggy dog lifted his head, wagged his tail and barked merrily, making me smile a little. Behind her, I heard clumping footsteps. Her large, dappled stallion had sidled up behind her, and warmly Alyssa rose and petted his velvety muzzle.

"No—in death, I will become a _dovah_ again," Alyssa told me. "The skies will be mine. But in the meantime, the earth is still in need of me. And...well, I suppose Odah is right. The Companions..." Despair fell across her face. "What will we do, without someone to guide the Companions? Kodlak, dead..."

I frowned. "His death was _not_ your fault. You were doing his bidding."

Alyssa was quiet for a moment. But after a moment, she said, "Do you think I am a part of your pack, Aela? Farkas...perhaps he was right in saying that I did not belong with them."

"Alyssa...you are a Circle-Sister. Farkas was in grief, as were we all. He regrets his words, trust me. And they want you to go back." I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Listen...if you won't tell them about...your darker side...then at least tell them that you're the Dragonborn. From your own mouth—let them know that you are one of the dragons. That it was you who saved me, Farkas and Njada from the dragon in the Crest. That it was you who fought him, Alduin...and it was he who..."

Her scars. Gods, what kind of creature could mark and damage a young woman so terribly?

Alyssa slowly nodded. "I...I will. I'll tell them. I'm the Dragonborn."

She breathed out. "I'm the Dragonborn." She was saying it more to herself than to those around her.

Meeko barked, and Warrior bobbed his head.

"You're my pack-sister," I said. "And whatever happens next...we hunt together."

Alyssa looked up at me as I continued. "For the honour of our fallen Companions. For the fallen—all of them, even the ones who you did not know. For those who have left us, and moved on, either into another life or the afterlife. For those who have lain down their lives for the Hall. For Glory." Their names came to me, one by one—those who had gone on. Eiwen. Aileen. Derrick. Myllasa. Lemaat. Samiith. Taija. Ornith. Orgmund. Endain. Skjor.

Alyssa nodded. "Aye," she said. "So said Ysgramor. For Glory."

And together, with Meeko trotting at our sides and Warrior's reins in Alyssa's hands, we walked back to Whiterun as a bright golden sun began to rise behind us.

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**A/N: And that is that. Revelations! Your first glimpse...and now I hope you've learned plenty about my Dovahkiin, but you'll learn more in AC (Alyssa's Chronicles) which appear to be in first place in the poll, but it is still up, so anything can happen!**

**So, do you like my ideas? 'Ofanod' is my draconic term for 'teacher/mentor', by the way, a word which I invented myself because I couldn't anything more related than 'give', 'Ofan'...and yes, the Desidenius family are a sub-diversion of the Laryssins! Betcha didn't know THAT! And the Dragonsong...it's hugely related to 'Dragonchild', something I made up myself, don't copy without permission etc etc, and Alyssa's scars, _Alduindur_, as she calls it, well, you'll be finding out more in-depth about the extent of Alduin's dark magics in Dark Heroes and what his TRUE intentions were...I think that just about covers it! Any questions, just PM me, otherwise, leave it in a review! Or maybe something nice...or not so nice...depends on what you want to say for this chapter.**

**Also THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! I achieved my goal of 150 reviews in under a DAY since posting up the previous chapter of this one...you guys are awesome! Dare I wonder if I can get 8 reviews for this chapter...?**


	65. Chapter 64 - Prophecy's End

**A/N: Hi, guys! I'm so so so sorry that this took forever to update. But I had really severe writer's block. I hope this chapter is up to scratch and standard - we've only got a few more to go before The Huntress is over. The thought makes me feel weird...**

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Chapter Sixty-Four

I didn't see them off—but when they disappeared from Jorrvaskr as one, I wished them luck.

My task to Hircine was complete at long last. And Alyssa and Vilkas would share that honour, grief and anger to eradicate the last of the Silver Hand. I was tired from my war with them—it was, in all rights, a short war in comparison to the rebellion in Windhelm, but it was a war that had drained me of all my anger and rage that I formerly had.

Skjor was at rest at last. And I looked forward to the day when I could meet him again.

"Aela...are you sure you can go through with this?"

I nodded. "It's what the old man would want. I'm honoured."

I snapped from my thoughts, returning to the present, to the task that lay here. The pyre had been built over the Skyforge in my absence, all through the night, and Kodlak had tenderly been laid to rest over it. He was dressed in his Wolf armour. Nothing else would suit this mighty warrior to the very end. The warhammer he had used was placed on his chest, his hands wrapped over it, his eyes closed as though he were resting. But I felt a terrible pang of guilt when I saw this. It was wrong—Kodlak was still a wolf when he had died and he had only wanted to be purged of his beastblood.

I was unusually quiet as I helped Athis arrange the wreath of flowers. Above, the sky was starting to cloud over, but sheltered by the great wings of the stone bird that loomed over the Skyforge, the embers would remain warm, and Kodlak's body dry. We would take the rain for him.

We stepped back. Farkas came over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, Huntress? I've never seen you this quiet."

I shook my head. "I'll never be okay, after this."

"Of course you will," Farkas said, his voice strangely comforting. "You did right. You honoured Kodlak by hunting his killer. He'll be pleased where he looks down from you in..." He drifted off, a flicker of sadness glittering in his eyes.

"We were too late," I muttered bitterly. "Too...Gods-damned...late."

Farkas was quiet.

After a moment, his eyes drifted down to my collarbone. "Do you...do you think...?"

I glanced down—and only then did I remember my wolf amulet. It was as though I had been kicked in the chest. How could I have forgotten about it? My hand closed around the wolf's head. Within me the wolf snarled with apprehension but I ignored it. My task was complete—and now I was free, after so long, to speak with my lord once more.

_Both tasks have been done,_ I said. _Both tasks have been done._

I closed my hand around the amulet, closed my eyes shut...and for the first time in over a year, entered the Communal.

It was how I had always remembered it. The shapeless void, traces of silver and grey and black, forming one infinite colour. The sounds of the hunt returned to me. The shrill cry of a hawk as it circled mournfully over Skyrim's landscape. The hiss of a serpent as it wound its way through the grass towards an unsuspecting elk. A rumbling growl from a sabre cat as it sensed intruders upon its territory. The grunting of a troll as it wandered vaguely over its land.

Then I heard the powerful voice of Hircine rip into my mind.

_Come, Huntress, and I welcome you back to this place. It has been long awaited, your return._

I dipped my head, feeling it heavier and longer than I last recalled it. "I have come to inform you that my tasks are complete."

A chirrup of birdsong. The rumbling of a mothering sabre cat. The gentle whining of a bear, tending to her cubs.

_This I know already, Huntress, but I am pleased,_ Hircine smiled. _You have indeed persevered in your tasks since the rising of the Bloodmoon. You have met my other champion. You have learned that thieves deserve to die...and, most unusually, you have shown compassion to these thieves, something that hunters feel once, and then forget._

"She was Alyssa's friend," I murmured. "I couldn't harm her."

A rustle of bracken as a fox emerged, sniffing the air with his handsome head. A pair of rabbits paused in their eating to lift themselves onto their hind legs, ears swishing to and fro.

_And not only that—I don't think my sister would have been the most pleased with me if I had sent my champion to remove one of hers,_ Hircine said. _But mortals are foolish, and we delight in their troubles, but guide them back onto the right path. You have fended for yourself well over the past year, Huntress. Truly worthy of my blessing._

There was a rustle of wings as a flock of pigeon took flight from the trees. _But I sense grief in your heart once more, my daughter. Come, speak to me. What troubles you?_

I bit my lip—it was an awfully hard thing to do when I didn't have much lip to bite in this form, but somehow I managed it. "My Lord...one of our number has fallen to the Silver Hand."

A growl through the darkest night.

_Yes, I know,_ Hircine said, sounding most displeased. _And a wolf who has shunned his blessing. He has shunned it for many long years, and attempted to forsake it in his desperation to see...well, that paradise that the Nords take pride in going to, I suppose._

"Sovngarde," I answered, feeling angry at my Lord's lack of respect for such a holy place. Oblivion, Alyssa _went_ to Sovngarde and met Ysgramor! "It's called Sovngarde. My Lord," I added quickly.

The restless pacing of a wolf pack as they waited for their alpha to arrive.

_I can imagine,_ Hircine said, sounding more displeased still, _that my...reluctant daughter...was more than pleased to carry the task of executing my loyal witches. They had their fun with her, of course, but dragons are so difficult to tame, aren't they? Their heads still reside in the Underforge but they're of rather little use._

I felt my breath catch in my throat his earlier statement. "What did the witches do to her?" I demanded, almost furiously.

The cheeky chirrup of a starling. The careless, happy yelps of fox pups as they tumbled and played.

_I believe you've experienced some of it in your time of living on Nirn,_ my Lord answered. _Earth Magic. But, as I've said earlier, dragons are difficult to tame. Particularly not that kind of dragon who knows what afterlife she wants for certain, and has visited it to confirm her thoughts. And if you have only come here to argue with me over what afterlives your pack wants, then we have rather little to discuss._ He sounded a tad impatient now.

I guessed I was treading some thin lines here. But I was determined to get my point across.

"Kodlak was a loyal member of the Companions and our Harbinger, our father, for more than twenty years," I snarled, and this time, I knew for certain that I was the wolf here. The snarls were growing savage and rumbling in my throat. "And it was his only wish to have seen the lights of Sovngarde. He did not deserve to die and have such a wish not granted to him. He wanted to be clean!"

Dead silence.

I wondered if I had gone too far.

Then, Hircine answered, _For your kind, for you mortals, there may still be a chance at this...well, 'cleansing', then, if you want to use the term. It matters little to me. He is not in the Hunting Grounds. It seemed that Kodlak was always destined to be the one to break my blessing over the Companions._

For a strange reason, hope lit inside of me.

"He's not in the Grounds?"

The affirming call of a wolf, and the pack swept forward to hunt.

_He hides, but he is not in the Grounds,_ answered Hircine calmly. _If this mortal matters so closely to you, on where his soul goes, then very well. Speak with my twin sons. They will understand what needs to be done._

I turned to leave.

_Oh, and remember one last thing, Huntress._

I paused. "Lord?"

_Your prophecy._

* * *

It was evening. Many members of the town had come to attend the funeral of their beloved Harbinger. Even from the royal court. To one side, Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth stood at the edge of the platform with their heads bowed in grief. Vignar Gray-Mane and Eorlund and his wife attended also. I had never seen Fralia look so sad since her son had been saved from the Thalmor.

And, of course, us Companions.

The skies of Sovngarde were promised to be clear after the rain we had during the day. Auroras were meant to pattern the sky. I hoped that they would be a riot of colour, the reds and golds of Whiterun Hold. I could see the stars winking into existence and the moons rising. It would have been a fine night for hunting. Now, though, the wolf was subdued, and for once, I was grateful for it.

I held the torch in my hand. I was now the eldest of the Companions and the others felt as though it were meant to be my duty to send Kodlak on his way. Athis and Torvar had simply outright refused to be the one to cremate their leader. Farkas did not want to, and Vilkas hadn't been present. Njada and Ria had simply shaken their heads and said, "It's your task, Huntress."

I supposed it was.

But I was feeling scared, inside. We were without a Harbinger, without a successor. The Circle would be looked to for guidance but they would be turning to three wolves. They had turned to a wolf, I guessed, for all these years for advice, but Kodlak was hardly wolf than man and even when he had transformed, I could still see the mortal side of him, the side who was honourable and strong and brave, wishing only the light and glory of Sovngarde.

I was prepared to begin, but it was at that moment that we heard the sound of footsteps striking the stone steps. We glanced towards the edge of the Skyforge. I felt a leap in my heart, from relief and joy, as Vilkas and Alyssa stepped to the Skyforge.

They looked exhausted and fresh wounds marred both their features—Vilkas, a black eye and split lip, and Alyssa, a painful-looking slash across her right cheek—but they looked relieved to be home. Meeko padded silently at Alyssa's side. They took their places and Meeko stood beside his mistress with his head bowed in sadness.

We were all here. "Who will start?" Eorlund asked quietly.

I swallowed. "I will."

I could only think back to the time when Endain had died. When we had commended his body to the fire and his soul to Sovngarde.

But I began nonetheless. "Before the ancient flame..."

"We grieve," the Companions rumbled as one.

Eorlund spoke next. "At this loss..."

"We weep." And many of us were, including myself. We let the tears fall silently. I could not erase the feeling t that I had inspired this, that I had provoked them into a desperate and angry rage.

Vilkas lifted his head. "For the fallen..."

"We shout." And I could not help but glance at Alyssa at these words. Only last night had the Silver Hand tasted her Thu'um and the dragon's wrath. She stood in silence—she didn't know the words, and her eyes were dry, but she stood as though she was reliving a terrible and traumatizing memory. Beneath her drawn hood, her dark hair curled around her chest, her bow resting heavily over her shoulders, her sword resting at her hip, her black eyes lowered to the ground. She had Shouted her vengeance, I knew at once, on the Silver Hand. The look in Vilkas's eyes confirmed it.

"And for ourselves..." Farkas murmured.

We dipped our heads and said, "We take our leave."

I walked forward, the torch held aloft in my hands. I stepped towards the pyre, and paused. For a moment, I was still, summoning the courage. Then, I lowered the torch, and set it to the wood, to the embers, and watched as the flames first hesitantly, then confidently, leapt up and flared. I stepped back as the Skyforge became a pit of flame, the pyre immersed in the shimmering gold. Kodlak was lost from all view.

Swallowing back a fresh wave of tears, I stepped back and said clearly, "His spirit is departed."

It was done. It was over. Meeko threw back his head and howled.

"Members of the Circle," I went on, "let us withdraw to the Underforge, so we may grieve our last together."

I quelled the flames on the end of my torch, and as Kodlak's body was commended to the ancient flames, we wolves turned and departed from the Skyforge.

As I passed the blacksmith, I saw that he had drawn off to the shadows and was speaking quietly with Alyssa. A sack passed between them, and by the metallic stench that clung to the sack, I knew at once that they were our pieces of Wuuthrad the Silver Hand had stolen, but Vilkas and she had reclaimed.

I was tempted to speak with her for a moment. Then, I just shook my head and slipped into the Underforge behind my two youngest brothers to discuss what was to happen to our group.

* * *

"How long have you known?"

We were alone at last, in the shadows. The expression in Vilkas's eyes was quiet amazement. I sighed and said, "I only found out the former night."

"So all that noise like thunder we heard..." Vilkas stiffened. "By the Gods...and I actually called her a _whelp_ when she can beat _any_ of us in square combat! Why didn't she tell us who she was earlier?"

"There was no need for her to do so," I defended. "She was...she didn't need to be Dragonborn in the Companions." I decided to let Alyssa tell Vilkas her story of even coming to be with us at all. "She just wanted to be herself."

Vilkas was quiet. Then he turned to his brother. "And you, Farkas? How long?"

"Since we went to Dustman's Cairn," Farkas responded. "I shared with her a secret—she shared with me hers. And it was damned fortunate that she did—we were outnumbered ten to one by Draugr. Scorched half of them into bones and ash with three words." He held up three fingers to amplify his meaning. "And saved my neck."

"So those scorch marks Skjor and I found, they definitely were her doing," I murmured, half to myself. I remembered the intensity of the scorch marks, the charred corpses, and could only imagine why Farkas had been scared of her.

Farkas shook his head slowly. "You should have seen it."

_I saw enough in the plains,_ I thought ruefully to myself. My encounter with Odahviing the Red Hunter still unnerved me.

Beyond the Underforge a full moon was rising—and it was a magnificent night for a hunt. But my heart lay in nothing. I was saddened at Kodlak's death...surely, _surely_, I should have been able to save him. The same raw, bitter grief I had felt when I had watched Eiwen die to a Falmer's arrow rose within me. I kept feeling I should have been the one to prevent his death. That I was responsible...

It seemed the others were thinking the same.

"The man had one wish before he died," said Vilkas, his voice subdued. "And he didn't get it. It's as simple as that."

I frowned. I remembered the fight that had ensured in the depths of the Underforge—this very place—as I was a young wolf, when Orgmund was going feral. Even now, I thought I could detect the very faintest traces of blood here—his, Samiith's, Lemaat's, mine, Skjor's and Kodlak's. All the blood that had been spilt by Orgmund's claws, and what blood we had been forced to spill from him. Kodlak had saved my life against the first attack—the wolf had protected the both of us. "Being moonborn is not so much a curse as you might think, Vilkas," I said, remembering that he had not seen this battle.

Vilkas scowled. "That's fine for you," he said. "But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him."

I knew that Alyssa had been to Sovngarde—and she had spoken with Ysgramor in person, which I was still trying to get my head around. I wondered if Alyssa had told him—I knew that Kodlak had known for quite some time that she was _Dovahkiin_, and I suddenly was gripped with suspicion that Alyssa had told him about her experiences in the land of departed.

But his accusation had put me on edge. "And you avenged him," I answered. _With more than a wolf on your side._

Behind me, Farkas said quietly, "Kodlak never cared for vengeance."

"No, Farkas, he didn't," Vilkas agreed. "And that's not what this is about."

The memory of him chastising me and Alyssa for our hidden war against the Silver Hand returned to the front of my mind. I realized that the twins were right—Kodlak, not once, had cared for vengeance. He had cared about stability, honour and companionship. He had ensured these things for as long as he had been Harbinger.

"We should be honoring Kodlak," Vilkas went on morosely, "no matter our own thoughts on the blood."

I dipped my head to hide the sudden burning in my eyes. "You're right," I said quietly, aware my voice was very unlike my own. "It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it."

There was a sudden shift in the stone and we all glanced towards the entrance to see Alyssa enter. I was about to greet her, when I saw the expression in her eyes, and saw her face was paler than I had ever seen it. She looked as though she had just seen Kodlak's ghost, and mutely she walked up to the blood altar where we were gathered.

"Have I missed much?" she asked quietly.

"Very little," Vilkas said, eyeing Alyssa carefully. "Just deciding what happens now."

She looked uncertainly at him and then at us.

"Are you all right, moon-sister?" I asked at last. "You look...shaken."

"I'm all right," she replied quietly.

I swore I could detect the slightest trace of fear coming from her—but I must have imagined it. Nothing could make her afraid. She had faced down a God. Why would she fear anything after that?

Then Vilkas said, "You think your efforts were wasted in Glenmoril cove?" Alyssa looked up at that but Vilkas went on. "Well, they're not." He turned to all of us. "Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death."

I suddenly remembered what Hircine had told me—and hope flared in me. There was still a chance.

"You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor," Vilkas said.

Farkas and I nodded. I could remember Kodlak telling me that very legend. "There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel," I murmured. But suddenly, my elation faded as I remembered what was needed. "We can't even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it's in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years."

And that was when a strong, aged voice rang through the room, coming from the entrance.

"And dragons were just stories. And the Elves once ruled Skyrim."

He walked forward, out from the shadows. "Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken. And repaired."

We all saw what lay on his shoulders. And now we were knocked speechless.

"Is that...?" whispered Vilkas. "Did you repair the blade?"

I hardly dared to believe it—but it was, and as though in answer, Eorlund's hands went up to the hilt of the axe and drew it down—and in the light that flooded in from the dawn beyond, we could see what we had all dreamed to see, what we had all hoped...

"This is the first time that I've had all the pieces," Eorlund explained, and shot a glance at Alyssa. "Thanks to our Shield-Sister here. The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered." He held Wuuthrad high. "The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad—the flames of a savior shall rekindle its glory. And now it will take you to meet him once more."

I glanced at Alyssa. No wonder she was late.

"Wuuthrad thrums with ancient power," she said quietly, "just as it once did, all those Ages ago."

Eorlund looked among us. "Who will carry Wuuthrad?"

I answered—for something suddenly made quiet, perfect sense. "There is only one who may carry Wuuthrad."

At last—at long last—the prophecy had come true. It was completed.

_In the fires of sorrow, the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it._

Now, finally, I understood. Twenty years since I first had heard it, and I understood the final part that for several years had eluded my understanding. I saw everyones' eyes turn to me in bemusement, and with a certainty unlike anything I had felt before, I said, "long ago, ten days after I first joined the Companions, Eorlund sent me to Olava."

The old blacksmith remembered. "Aye—I wanted the future."

"But she also told mine," I said. "She gave me a prophecy."

Alyssa's eyes looked up to mine at the mention of the word. The twins just gaped at me. "I already had a destiny as being a hunter of Hircine," I went on, "but there was another one that now, I realize, foretold my future as a Companion, a Shield-Sister. I didn't understand it—but it foretold the biggest events that were to happen in these few years. _Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch_."

"Silver," said Farkas disgustedly. The wolf in me flattened its ears.

"_Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved._" I felt a twist in my heart as I said these words—Alyssa looked pained, the twins sad, Eorlund sympathetic. They knew who I had lost to the Silver Hand.

"_Beware the anger that followers, for it will bring naught but grief in the end._"

"The Silver Hand's retaliation on Jorrvaskr," murmured Vilkas, eyeing me and Alyssa accusingly. "You provoked them into doing this. And Olava...that old crone _knew_ that they'd retaliate in this rage, and kill Kodlak!"

The wolf crept into his voice but Alyssa suddenly snarled, "It was _not_ just her doing." Her voice thundered around the Underforge, halting Vilkas, and the wolf in me whimpered and withdrew into the darkness. I was thrown back to the memory of seeing her wrath unleashed. "And yes, we were foolish," Alyssa said, her voice losing its immediate rage. "We were very foolish. But if this was a prophecy...and it was only a part of it...then maybe this was meant to be."

The others were as uncertain as I felt. I supposed she spoke from personal experience, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know the extent of what Alyssa had had to go through as the Last Dragonborn. Knowing exactly how she had earned her scars was enough.

"Was there any more to it?" Eorlund asked at last.

I nodded. "One more. _In the fires of sorrow, the broken will be mended._" I looked meaningfully at Wuuthrad. "_And the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it._"

"The fires of sorrow," murmured Vilkas wonderingly. "It...it was talking about Kodlak's funeral, wasn't it?"

"And from its ashes rises Wuuthrad," Farkas concluded softly.

"But who is the one of destiny?" Vilkas demanded. "You?" He stared at me.

Quickly I shook my head. "No. Not me." I glanced at Alyssa. "Her."

The others followed my gaze, and they all saw Alyssa's face tighten a little.

"Me?" she asked at length, her voice suddenly hesitant. "But..."

"You know," Eorlund interrupted, "I think Aela might be right. You've already done the world a great service as being the slayer of the World-Eater. And now you've done the Companions a great service at bringing us the pieces of Wuuthrad, the weapon of our founder, the origins of our legacy."

Alyssa bit the bottom of her lip. "But...but I'm not sure I'm the right one to carry it."

I wondered if she was thinking about her 'jobs' in Dawnstar and Riften.

"If not you," said the old blacksmith gently, "who else?"

Everyone was silent.

"It's you Olava spoke of," I told Alyssa firmly, breaking it. "You're the one meant to carry Wuuthrad into battle. To restore it to the hands of Ysgramor—you have met him, after all. I'm certain he'd agree with me, even if I don't meet him myself."

Alyssa smiled hollowly. "And it's only because I'm 'the one of destiny', yes?"

"Of course," I answered. "You've always known that you'd have a great destiny ahead of you, since childhood." The others were looking bemused but we didn't elaborate on the fact. "You were always meant for great things, Alyssa. You know who you are again. You know who you're meant to be."

Alyssa looked further unsure. And then, she slowly nodded, as though she had come to a decision. Her face was strained, though, as she took the hilt of Wuuthrad. Almost immediately, she nearly dropped it.

"Bloody hell, this thing's _heavy!_"

The tension was lifted and we cracked a smirk. "Thank the Gods I'm not carrying it, then," I said.

With a grunt, Alyssa hefted it onto her back, fastening its sheath firmly around her back. The huge grey outline of Wuuthrad bounced against her bow and the sharp edges clanged against the hilt of the Nightingale Blade at her hip.

"Now that we are prepared," said Vilkas, who had hefted the sack of foul-smelling Glenmoril Witches' heads onto one shoulder, "Are we prepared to go and honour Kodlak?"

We nodded. "We are."

Alyssa's voice was the strongest of all of us. Wuuthrad, the weapon of legend, in the hands of a legend, gleamed in the dawn light that spilled into the Underforge.

* * *

**A/N: There. *phew* Another chapter out of the way! So the prophecy's been fulfilled and now the Companions are on their way to the Tomb of Ysgramor. And don't worry. I have a slight twist in mind for when Aela and Alyssa are reunited with the spirit of Kodlak. Hopefully it's an unexpected one! Review, lovely readers! And in your spare time, if you could check out my latest story _Torn_, I'd be mega-grateful ;D Shout is Out.**


	66. Chapter 65 - The Tomb of Ysgramor

**A/N: Hey guys! This came out a lot earlier than I intended it to - but I'm on a roll. I'm desperate to get to sixty-six and then the epilogue. You know, I feel kind of weird, knowing that I'm so close to finishing...do any of you feel like that? Anyway, enough of me: onward.**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Five

Even though the Tomb of Ysgramor was so far north that it was actually a broken away piece of distant isolated island in the farthest reaches of Winterhold, the journey there didn't seem to take any time at all.

Alyssa had stated quite firmly that she wasn't going to be slogging all the way to Winterhold on foot with a huge war-axe on her back—and the fact that she never fought with a war-axe despite her Nordic heritage encumbered her further. So instead of taking the shortcut through the Underforge and directly out into the plains, we headed around the long way, swinging past the stables so Alyssa could get her horse. Meeko trotted eagerly at her heels. He looked pleased to be getting out for adventure again.

"Which one?" I asked her ruefully, noticing that Shadowmere was also stabled beside Warrior.

"Warrior, of course," answered Alyssa. Shadowmere stiffened and whinnied loudly.

"Oh, come on!" she had snapped at him. "I'm not taking you because I'm going to Ysgramor's tomb—I don't think he would be pleased with me if I took an assassin's horse to his front door." Fortunately the twins were petting Meeko some distance away (the hound had discreetly led them out of earshot, sensing an argument with that uncanny wisdom of his) and didn't hear her frustrated outburst.

Shadowmere flicked one ear and turned his head away disdainfully.

"Well, if you want be like that, fine," said Alyssa irritably to him, as she led Warrior out from the stables. I swore the big grey horse shot Shadowmere a smug glance (if horses could look smug, this one did!) as he passed him. "By the Divines, it's much easier having a normal horse once in a while instead of one that lives in the Void with Sithis!"

Shadowmere nickered. "Well, you can go tell Sithis that I'm not his dead wife's lackey," Alyssa responded tartly as she tightened Warrior's saddle around his girth. "And that I'm going to a place of glory, thank you very much. Notice the gigantic weapon on my back? Does this look like something an assassin might use?"

The black horse twitched one ear and bobbed his head. "Oh, go stuff yourself," Alyssa muttered resignedly, fastening the bridle around Warrior's head.

Then we were off, trekking along the winding north road to Winterhold.

"Been a while since I've last been up here," Alyssa commented from astride Warrior's back.

"Don't you go to the College much?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "I'm not a spellcaster. I had to join to talk to Urag about..." She paused. "Well, it's a long story, and I'm not exactly in a mood to tell it."

She seemed somber throughout the rest of the journey. When we paused to camp for the night at the crossroads (where the roads to Dawnstar, Winterhold and Whiterun were interlocked and presided over by a half-thawed signpost), I noticed that she was frequently leafing through a small battered brown diary that she seemed to have brought with her. She was leaning against Warrior, who was sitting on the ground acting as his mistress's pillow, while Meeko slouched nearby with his shaggy head on her knee.

The twins were asleep, so I sifted through the thick, chunky snow towards her.

She glanced up and hastily snapped the book shut. "Hi," she said quickly.

Meeko opened one eye.

"I don't recall you with a diary," I said.

Alyssa half-closed her eyes. "None of your business," she said shortly.

The wolf in me muttered darkly. I thought I caught a vaguely familiar scent coming from the pages.

Then it hit me, and something clicked. "Is that Kodlak's journal?"

Alyssa stared at me in surprise and alarm for a moment, and then clocked herself on the head.

"Forgot I was travelling with a bunch of hounds instead of one."

"But is that his journal?"

She nodded resignedly. "That was where the piece of Wuuthrad was found, caught between the last few pages. I think...I think he was expecting me to find it if he put the piece there." I saw the expression change to exhaustion and she leaned back in slight despair against Warrior's side. The big grey horse lifted his head and pushed his grizzled muzzle gently into her cheek.

I frowned. "You've been reading Kodlak's private journal?" For some reason the idea inspired a bit of irritation and anger in me. "Is this something to do with being a nosy thief?"

"Nosy? I'd say the same about you, _grohiik_!"

"Don't speak Gods-damned draconic in front of me." I knew what it meant, but I was still unnerved by the mere sound of draconic. Two nights ago was not going to die easily in my mind.

"Sorry. But still..." Alyssa broke off, as though unsure. Meeko lifted his head directly off Alyssa's knee and growled at me, his tail starting to thump in a threatening manner on the snow behind him.

After a moment, I said, "You sound...almost angry. No." I paused thoughtfully. "Why are you despairing?"

Alyssa was quiet. Then, at last, she passed the journal to me.

"Take a look yourself," she said grimly. "And see what it says."

I hesitated. A strong part of me was urging me to put the book down and go back to my bedroll and just go to sleep and nothing eerie would happen. Nothing strange or bizarre. Nothing that might make this night one I'd never forget.

Of course, if I had written this part of my life down, then clearly it was a night that I was going to remember. And that meant I was going to do what my instinct was telling me not to do.

I read Kodlak's journal.

And almost immediately I hissed, "This is his dream."

I could remember the day that he first told me his dream to the Circle – he had told us that we had a choice. Then he had told me that someone had come and defended him against the wolf. A great warrior. I had nearly forgotten it in all the events that had been happening throughout the past few months—or year. I remembered that Alyssa was actually a part of this dream – and I had completely forgotten about it.

I wasn't overly surprised when I saw Alyssa, unnamed, made her appearance. Alyssa sensed this and said, "You don't seem amazed I was in this."

"I'm not. I was told—later, in private, just before you became a wolf."

"Oh." Alyssa leaned back. "But I don't get it. Do you? Do you know what I'm meant to do?"

"It says that you fought off his wolf," I commented absently, turning the page. "We're heading to the Flame of the Harbingers trying to find some way to cleanse him. Maybe you'll be the one to discover it."

"Maybe," Alyssa agreed quietly.

I was quiet as I was reading this. I didn't really understand why Alyssa seemed so upset over the diary—there was nothing particularly special about it other than the references to the dream at the beginning. It was just my beloved Harbinger's diary. Alyssa came to the Companions, started proving herself (with a few mentions of her less-than-reliability and the revelation that she was _Dovahkiin_) and then became a werewolf.

And then when I started reading the last part...that was where the bottom of my stomach fell out.

"By the Gods," I murmured.

"And that," said Alyssa softly, "is what I have been brooding over."

"But..." I glanced up at her. "You...you are meant to be Kodlak's successor?"

Alyssa looked anxious. "Are you angry?"

"No...no, of course not." I had never been one to lead. Never wanted it, never cared for it. And Kodlak had spoken true when he mentioned that I was too solitary. I had always been ferociously independent. The memory of first speaking with Jarl Ulfric wormed its way to the surface of my memory and very nearly brought a small smile on my face. "But...I'm just surprised."

Though I wondered why I was. Alyssa was Dragonborn—she was a born warrior. She'd make a great Harbinger.

Wouldn't she?

"Look," said Alyssa uncertainly, at length. "I came to the Companions to heal myself from my wounds I obtained when going to Sovngarde. And I did. But I didn't expect to start becoming a serious member. You know that I'm a leader of thieves and there is always work to be done in the Guild. I expected to sign on, complete contracts, bring honour and such to the Companions and then take my leave when I was ready to leave. Then I joined the Circle—and then I became a werewolf. Now..." She pressed her head into her hands. "Now I'm meant to become your chief advisor. People are going to look up to me for advice and wisdom. I'm going to have to remain as a warrior for the rest of my days..."

I stared at her. "And you don't want that?"

"No...I don't." She looked up, her face etched with weariness. "I'm a thief, Aela. I always have been a thief. I was trained to fight and knowing how to fight is crucial if one wants to survive in Skyrim but I never was a warrior. I became one for the sake of Skyrim, killed dragons, cleared Draugr-filled crypts in search of a half-buried Word Wall...but I lived for so long being a thief and living amongst people who are so close to me they're like family, I feel it's the only life that I want to lead and live now. The battle with Alduin took its toll on me, both on the mountain and in the land of dead. Coming to the Companions was the only way I could effectively help myself. Why...why did Kodlak choose me? I'd make a terrible Harbinger."

"No, you wouldn't..."

"Oh, yes I would, Aela. I think you should know that."

I paused. I supposed I should. There was not anyone less present than she.

"Oh, Gods, Aela..." Alyssa placed her head in her hands again. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

I closed the journal and gave it back, unsure what to say myself.

* * *

The next day, the College of Winterhold lay behind us. The trek across the frozen ice over freezing waters had been a nerve-racking experience for most of us. Even the twins had been apprehensive crossing it. But Warrior seemed to take to it with ease, despite his huge body and his heavy, stone-like hooves. He moved with surprising ease and fearlessness over the ice, and barely left a crack in his wake. Meeko's big shaggy paws were like snowshoes, and indeed, he gamboled around us, the most carefree of all of us, wagging his tail and barking merrily, and attempting to catch whirling snowflakes on his tongue.

Alyssa was looking straight ahead, her dark eyes filled with memory. She didn't ride Warrior. She held onto his reins but she didn't lead him. In fact, I was fairly certain that she was just following her horse. Warrior didn't seem to need leading, and I felt another shiver of awe run through me at the strange and wonderful connection Alyssa possessed with her two uncanny animals.

The Tomb of Ysgramor soon came to us. The snowstorm ceased a little and let a beam of watery white light shine through, outlining the crypt covered in centuries' worth of ice and frost. "Wow," breathed Farkas, his eyes wide with wonder. "What a...what a place to be buried."

"Ysgramor really lies here?" Alyssa wondered, her own voice hushed.

I could feel a strange feeling in the air. It felt...I'm not sure. For me, it seemed to feel right. But for the wolf...the wolf in me was cringing, suddenly flat in submission.

"Can you feel it?" I murmured to my pack.

They nodded. "The wolves are scared," said Vilkas. His voice was hopeful. "They sense some kind of great power beneath the surface."

"Not just beneath it," murmured Alyssa, half to herself. Her eyes had turned to the big mountain that surrounded and sheltered most of the tomb from the sea's relentless winds. "But Vargur's growing shy as well. He senses something under the surface, as Vilkas said." She glanced at me. "Do you think it's the Flame of the Harbingers?"

"Maybe." I didn't like this feeling. The wolf and I had been one for a long time, and its restlessness affected me as well. I fidgeted uncomfortably with the hilt of my dagger, feeling as though I was slowly being torn in two. And this was just the outside...

It was strange. One side of me suddenly felt as though I wanted to enter battle, and clash in combat against my foes. To be honourable and just. I could see myself clad in shining steel armour with a mighty Skyforge sword above my head while my foes lay slain around me. A beam of light as bright and as glorious as the rays of Sovngarde fell around me...

And then the other side of me was the rush of wind, the whisper of the hunt, the wind skating over the plains. The quiet, rustic beauty that I found in those grassy meadows, the silent thrill of watching my arrow sail in flight and strike a deer fifty yards away through the eye, hear the call of the wild rumbling and echoing in my veins and my heart.

"Exactly what I feel now," murmured Farkas, and I jumped, realizing I must have said the words aloud.

We climbed onto solid ground, but as we climbed up the side of the crypt, I heard Warrior snort suddenly and Meeko bark and whimper in protest.

"No, boys." I glanced back. Alyssa had turned back and rejoined her pets. She was patting Meeko's head sympathetically, and she said, "I'm going in with my pack."

Meeko growled and barked.

"I'm sorry, boy. But I have no idea what it'll do to you in there." Alyssa's eyes were sad. "I'm not even a full canine and look how it's affecting me and the others. There might be bad side effects if a real dog went in there. This is a place that...well, that seems to defy Hircine in a way. And Hircine's your lord." She looked up. "Both of your lords."

Warrior snorted and bobbed his head restlessly. His eyes were distressed.

"And it's not as though I'm going away," Alyssa added gently. "I'll be out before you know it. If it gets cold, find a sheltered spot somewhere nearby. I'll only be an hour or two—probably more, I know, I know, but you can always hope these things won't take forever to do."

Warrior whimpered and pushed his huge head into Alyssa's chest.

"Don't worry," she said gently to her stallion, stroking his grizzled head and behind his large ears. She looked into Warrior's eyes and said, "I'm not sure what's going to happen in there. But I might come out whole again." Wuuthrad gleamed on her back in the sunshine. Warrior sniffed the handle, and then drew away with a snort. "And thank you for carrying me all this way. Wuuthrad is very heavy. I can't believe Ysgramor swung this around and around his head in Skyrim and Sovngarde."

She stroked Meeko's head. "Take care of yourselves, boys. I'll be back soon."

Meeko and Warrior watched sadly as their mistress turned away from them and quickly climbed up the side of the crypt. Vilkas and Farkas were waiting just below, while I stood at the top, waiting for Alyssa to catch up.

"Does that always happen before you enter a crypt?" I couldn't help asking.

"Well...normally I wouldn't leave Meeko behind," admitted Alyssa, sadly. "But he has to stay. I need him to guard Warrior as much as for his own safety. I don't know what being in an ancient crypt full of heroes is going to do to him."

I glanced back at him. Meeko wagged his tail and barked, but in a slightly sad manner. He sat down at Warrior's feet.

"Please," said Alyssa, clapping me on the shoulder. "We'll see them soon enough. Come on."

With the twins leading the way, we stepped inside.

* * *

It was cold and dark within. Neglected. The wolf growled softly and shrank further back into my mind. The air was cool and stung at my skin, and breathing in the frosty air, we followed the winding tunnel downwards.

Then I heard Vilkas gasp beyond, "Sweet Talos..."

We entered a chamber—and before us stood the legendary figure of Ysgramor, carven from ancient stone. His hands were poised, his eyes turned towards some unseeing point, his armour perfected to the very last detail. But his hands were empty. Offerings lay at the foot of the statue—a broken sword, a shield, a coin purse, withered flowers and loose septims were scattered around the foot of Ysgramor. The cavern, however, was silent.

I looked around. There wasn't a door leading anywhere, it seemed.

"It's just rock," I muttered, half to myself.

Alyssa frowned and glanced at Vilkas. "How do we open it again?"

"Return Wuuthrad to Ysgramor, and it should open the way," Vilkas answered.

We watched in silence as Alyssa drew the heavy axe. She struggled with it for just a moment, but quickly found her footing and walked carefully forward, holding the mighty Wuuthrad in her hands. Silently I watched. The gleaming battleaxe passed me and the wolf growled bitterly in my throat. But for once, I clamped a hand around its muzzle to silence it, angry at it for interrupting this strange, quiet ceremonial moment.

Alyssa took a deep breath, and then reached up, swung Wuuthrad around so it faced the other way, and slotted it easily into Ysgramor's bare gauntlets.

There was a rough stony _clack_ as the weapon knocked against Ysgramor's hands.

Then silence.

And then Farkas said quietly, "Look. Over there."

We looked around the statue, in time to see the doorway slide down, revealing the passageway that led beyond. A rush of cold air whistled through, and blew into our faces—and instantly our noses curled back in disgust.

"Death," murmured Alyssa. "And that always means Draugr." One hand wrapped around the hilt of her blade.

"Not necessarily," said Vilkas, setting down the sack of witch heads and gently grasping her shoulder.

Alyssa glanced at him. "Then what?"

Vilkas half-looked around as he spoke—and he seemed to speak to all of us, not just her. "This is the resting place of Ysgramor," he said, "and all his most trusted generals." His eyes narrowed as he remembered. "The original Companions...their finest warriors rest with Ysgramor. You'll have to prove yourselves to them."

"Perfect," Alyssa muttered darkly. "Didn't I already prove that with Alduin in Sovngarde?"

Vilkas shrugged apologetically. "It's not that you're intruding," he went on. "I'd wager that they've actually expected us. They just want to be sure that you're worthy."

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "By the Gods, they're a tough crowd."

I smirked a little at that. Then, I asked, "Did you actually meet the Five Hundred Companions in Sovngarde?"

"Not personally," Alyssa answered, looking darkly down the length of the tunnel. "But they were hanging around the Halls, eager to get a glimpse of this Dragonborn. They were a bit put off by my face, of course, but they seemed pleased that I was walking with Ysgramor throughout the time."

The twins looked amazed and dreamy. Alyssa smirked and lightly punched Vilkas's arm. "Have faith, you old mutt. We're here for Kodlak, remember?"

"Yes," I said firmly, pulling out my dagger. "For Kodlak."

"For Kodlak," Farkas agreed, as he unsheathed his mighty greatsword.

"For Kodlak," said Vilkas. But his hands remained still.

I frowned slightly, sensing a reluctance within him. "Aren't you coming?" I asked.

He glanced at me and shook his head. "Kodlak was right...and you were right," he explained sullenly. "I let vengeance rule my heart." His voice hardened and he glanced at Alyssa. "I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade. But I can't go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved."

Alyssa's eyes softened. Some distant memory played in front of her eyes—I had learned by now to recognize the nostalgic look that came over her face when memory struck—and she rested a hand more gently on his shoulder. "I understand," she said. "And I don't regret anything at what we did in Driftshade, either. It was right to—the Silver Hand will not be bothering us for a very long time."

"They'd better not," I softly growled, clenching my fist tighter around my dagger.

"And have faith," said Alyssa sincerely. "You will meet Kodlak again one day."

"Yes," said Vilkas, with a nod. "I believe I will." He looked past Alyssa and to Farkas. His brother was watching him with a slight frown on his face. "And don't worry, Farkas," Vilkas added. "I will be all right with time. We all will. But go on. Kodlak and Ysgramor wait for you further within. And I will wait here until you return. Good luck, all of you."

He had made his choice and there was no swaying him. "Then we'll be seeing you soon," Alyssa told him, as she moved her hand from his shoulder and walked around the statue.

"Goodbye for now," said Farkas. He nodded once and then turned, following Alyssa down the darkened chamber beyond.

For a moment, Vilkas and I were left alone in the chamber.

"Aren't you going to catch up with the others?" Vilkas asked, frowning a little.

"I am," I assured him. "But I'm just taking a moment to reflect exactly how much you've grown up."

He smirked a little and dipped his head, clearly thinking warm memories as well. "It's hard to believe exactly how much I've come since you and Samiith found us in Whiterun," Vilkas conceded. "I've lost so many friends over the years, but that's to be expected in the life of a warrior." He clasped my forearms and I clasped his, in the warrior's way. "Good luck," he said. "And make sure they don't come under harm, Huntress."

I nodded. "You're a fine warrior, Vilkas. I'm glad I persuaded Kodlak to keep you in Jorrvaskr."

"And I'm glad I accepted," Vilkas answered, with a smile. "Because without him and Aileen's tutorledge I think Farkas and I would have poisoned ourselves before we even made it to Solitude."

Ah, so he still remembered the juniper. I smiled wryly at the memory, before I turned and headed swiftly after my Shield-Siblings, ready to face what trials awaited us.

* * *

We had hardly taken a few steps down into the chamber when we were confronted by skeevers.

"Who wants to handle them?" I asked.

Farkas and Alyssa, in unison, stepped backwards from the little ugly critters.

"I'm not dirtying my blade so early," said Alyssa disdainfully.

"They're not worth my energy," Farkas stated.

"Lazy arses," I scolded them, before I stalked forward with dagger at the ready. The skeevers screeched and leapt towards me—I jumped out of the way and sliced one head to foot while it jumped, and kicked the other one out of the way so hard the skull cracked under my boot.

I shook skeever blood off my blade. "Gross."

"Come on." Alyssa walked around the bodies that were already starting to stink. "That was our warm-up for what lies ahead, I think."

"You think Draugr lie ahead?" asked Farkas quietly.

"Impossible if they're Companions," answered Alyssa. "Draugr are undead former servants of the dragons. Companions never were dragon servants so their bodies would remain at rest."

I frowned in confusion. "So what awaits us, then?"

We stepped into the next chamber, and the answer was immediately presented itself to us. From two upright tombstones, two ghostly figures emerged—figures that soon resembled two warriors, one male and one female, bodies clad in ancient Nordic armour and wearing graceful helmets adorned with antlers and horns (antlers for the woman, horns for the man).

"Spirits," Alyssa answered.

"Shit," I whispered softly to myself, as I watched the two Companions stalk towards us, drawing weapons.

Alyssa glanced at me. "You all right?"

"I've been all across Skyrim," I said softly. "I've killed trolls and giants and mammoths and Draugr. Cleared beast dens full of sabre cats, wolves, Spriggans and bears. I've even helped you fight a dragon in Bonestrewn Crest, and killed bandit after bandit after bandit. But ghosts? They're a new one."

"_Who dares disturb our rest?_" the female ghost whispered.

Alyssa frowned and stepped forward. "We seek entrance into the inner sanctum of the tomb," she declared to the phantoms, not looking the slightest unfazed by their appearances.

The male ghost huskily laughed. "_Prove yourselves, little warriors,_" it hissed. "_In the way of steel and swordcraft. Silence your tongue, Dovahkiin. Show us the strength of your arm._"

"Ah, so you do remember me. Excellent." Alyssa twirled her sleek black sword between her fingers and said, "Let's begin, shall we?"

"Alyssa," said Farkas, as the male ghost stalked towards us while Alyssa and the female began to circle. "How are we meant to kill those who are already dead?"

"Same way you kill anything else," answered Alyssa.

I jerked my attention back to the ghost as he loomed before us. He swept his axe low. Farkas and I easily avoided it, and suddenly battle instincts kicked in. I raised my dagger and leapt forward, but abruptly the ghost feinted to my right and swung towards my hip. I barely managed to deflect the blow. Farkas raced forward and swung his greatsword around. Skillfully the Companion parried the punishing blow, even transferring away most of the brunt of Farkas's brute strength.

This was a good fighter. Breathing heavily, I leapt forward. The Companion whirled around, deflecting the blow, and the sound of clashing metal resonated around the chamber.

The blow felt real—it jarred my arm and made me stagger. And yet the Companion was a ghost...I could feel the coldness of death surrounding it in an ectoplasmic mist. As the Companion faced us once more, I couldn't help thinking, _In all my years with the Companions, not once have I ever faced an actual phantom!_

However, I was reminded of the time in Steepfall Deep—with the Draugr and the enormous Frostbite Spider that had nearly chewed me into pulp. The great plunge I had taken both in Kagrenzel and the Deep, falling hundreds of metres downward into icy water. All the times I had entered beast warrens, been discovered by the quarry, and had to fight for my life. Even back to the time when I had faced down the three wolves in the middle of the Whiterun plains, when I was but a young girl, still so happily innocent to the nature of the world, when Panjor was still like my brother.

I was Aela. I was a Huntress. And ever since I had become a Companion, I was a warrior.

I tightened my grip around the dagger and leapt forward. As Farkas took out the spectral Companion's legs with a sweep of his greatsword, I surged forward and planted my dagger through its head. There was a strange cracking sound, as though I had really driven it through flesh and bone, and I heard a gargle of surprise issue from the Companion's lips. A thick white substance like ghostly blood poured from the wound.

"_Well...done..._" the ghost gasped, before its body vanished.

I remained holding my dagger in thin air, it being as clean as it had been before I had cleaved the ancient Companion's head with it.

Farkas got up. "You okay, Huntress?"

I nodded. "That was a new experience."

"Tell me about it." Alyssa appeared to have finished her battle with the Companion a while ago, and she leaned against the wall, a small smile on her face. "The first time I encountered ghosts was in Rannveig's Fast. But this is probably one of the few times a ghost has actually honourably challenged me to combat." She straightened. "Are either of you hurt?" We shook our heads, and she nodded. "Let's move on. We have a lot more crypt to cover."

* * *

We fought our way through the crypt once more. More of the ghosts emerged, challenging us and testing our sword arm—and each time, we defeated them. I was getting the hang of these weary trials now, and soon began to lose my fear, facing each challenge almost eagerly. They also began to grow larger in number, coming at us in fours and fives, as though they sensed that we were more than simple whelps of warriors.

When we entered a particularly large room brightly lit by braziers, there were many Companions there, at least eight of them, and for a moment dismay held me still. There were three of us and eight of them, each Companion probably with the combat experience of us three put together.

"Damn it," said Alyssa, with a small resigned sigh. "And I suppose we can't fight you one by one?"

"_Fight us as warriors,_" rasped one Companion, knocking an ancient arrow to her bowstring. "_Only the pure of heart will reach their destinations._"

Alyssa sighed. "I had hoped this wouldn't happen."

I glanced at her. "What would happen?"

She rolled her shoulders. "You say I can't fight you with my Voice?" she asked the ghosts. At their nod, she said, "Would summoning someone be against the rules?"

The ghosts were very perplexed. "_Who?_" asked a male warrior.

"Oh, I know a few," said Alyssa mildly, "but you know what? In this case, I'll think I'll go with the one who reminds me most of Kodlak. We're here for his honour, after all—and there is a certain man I want my friends to meet."

The ghosts readied their weapons and attacked—but not before Alyssa drew breath and roared in a voice like thunder, "_HUN KAAL ZOOR!_"

There was a blinding flash of light, so bright that most of us halted in our charge—and suddenly, I smelt a very strange smell. For some reason, it made me think of stones more ancient than the Throat of the World, snows older than time itself...and roast ox.

Then Alyssa called, "Good to see you again!"

"And you as well, Dragonborn!" a voice foreign to my ears shouted in response.

When the light cleared, I found myself staring at someone who I had only seen and heard of in legends—and I'm fairly certain Farkas's jaw had fallen open as well.

"Well, let's waste no time, then," said Alyssa, to the ghostly, spectral figure of the Ancient Nord Hero, Hakon One-Eye. "The phantoms are still coming at us, you realize."

"Oh, I do realize!" Hakon answered, with a grin, as he drew his mighty axe that gleamed with the light of a thousand stars. "I was just wondering when we were going to begin."

"Aela, look sharp! Stop goggling and get to it!" Alyssa's voice jerked me back into concentration, and I whirled around enough to parry an otherwise-killing blow from a spectral Companion. My back crashed against Farkas's, and within moments we fell into the familiar steps of pair-fighting—as, nearby, Alyssa did with Hakon One-Eye.

I couldn't resist glancing in a mixture of awe and disbelief at the Ancient Nord Hero. How in the good name of the Divines had Alyssa been able to reach into Sovngarde and bring one of the famed heroes through time and space back to the living world? But Hakon One-Eye's fighting skills were truly legendary—he twisted and turned, his battleaxe singing through the air. In the stories it had tasted the blood of Alduin, and suddenly I remembered that Alyssa had met this hero in Sovngarde, along with his two companions, as well as others.

For a brief moment, I wondered if she could even summon Ysgramor. That would've been ironic.

Then, as suddenly as the battle begun, it had ended, and the chambers were silent once more.

"Mind tagging along for a while, Hakon?" Alyssa asked him.

"It's my honour to fight at your side once again, Dragonborn," Hakon answered simply. "I will come with you as long as my energy lasts." His eyes swept to the side, and I tingled when they fell onto me and Farkas. "And these are your own Companions, I see."

"Yes. Hakon, these two are Aela the Huntress, the finest hunter in all of Whiterun Hold, and Farkas, strongest swordsman in all of Whiterun." Alyssa caught my expression of amazement and smiled a little. "Hakon, Gormlaith and Felldir fought with me against Alduin—and Tsun gave me the ability to call them whenever I needed their aid."

"And against all these phantoms, I'm not surprised," Hakon added. He hefted his axe over his shoulder. "Shall we continue?"

"Yes, let's."

Slowly I shook my head and fell into step just behind her. _You're never going to stop surprising me._

* * *

After cutting our way through some spider webs that guarded the end of the hall, I heard a soft, familiar clicking sound, and felt a familiar stickiness beneath my boots. I glanced down distastefully, and looked up again—in time to see several Frostbite Spiders drop down from the web-coated ceiling.

"Seriously?" sighed Alyssa, pulling out her Nightingale Bow. "I thought this place was just occupied by phantoms!"

I drew my own bow, but as I knocked an arrow to its string, I realized that our party was missing one member. I glanced over my shoulder, to see Farkas hanging back, uncertainty in his eyes.

"Farkas," I said, turning back. "What's wrong?"

He half-shook his head. "I'm sorry, Aela...but I can't go on."

"What? But...but why not?" I stared at him in surprise.

Farkas looked sheepish, if I wasn't mistaken. "Ever since Dustman's Cairn...and, well, Steepfall Deep..." Of course, the titan spider was a sore thing to forget. "...the big crawly ones have been too much for me." He looked troubled. "Everyone has their weakness, and this one's mine."

"You encountered spiders in Dustman's Cairn?" I asked, curious despite myself. Behind us, I could hear the shrieks and the spitting and the battle-roars as the Dragonborn and ancient dragon-slayer cut into their foes.

"Yeah." Farkas shivered. "Probably Steepfall's son."

"Ouch. But now what?"

Farkas sighed. "I'm not proud," he said, "but I will stay back with Vilkas. It has been an honour to meet Hakon, though—Vilkas will be disbelieving and amazed when I tell him, I'm sure." He smiled a little. "Give my regards to Ysgramor."

I smiled back. "Certainly. I'll see you soon, Brother."

Farkas gave me another of his lopsided smiles. Then, he put down the sack of witch heads, turned, and lumbered away.

I was aware that behind me the sounds of battle had died, and I turned back to find Alyssa watching me.

"You all right, Huntress?" Alyssa looked past me. "Where's Farkas going?"

"Back." I frowned. "Did he ever tell you about what he encountered in Steepfall Deep when he was nineteen?"

"No..."

"Well, that's where his beginnings of arachnophobia came from." I headed towards her. "He'll stay back with Vilkas. But we must push on."

Alyssa frowned and nodded. She slung the sack of Glenmoril witch heads that Farkas had left behind over her shoulders and said, "I know that we're close now. I'm sure of it."

"Yes. The ancient magic here is growing stronger." I hadn't forgotten the wolf—its whimpering and cringes were growing more insistent. It sounded truly afraid, but something else was coming within me, something I hadn't felt for many years. I was starting to feel more like a warrior than a beast—and I wasn't sure whether this felt good or not, but it felt different, definitely different...and not even all that bad.

In the next web-spun room, standing over the corpse of a giant Frostbite, Hakon was cleaning his spectral axe. "I'd forgotten these foul abominations of nature," he said as we entered. "Let's hope we get back to fighting phantoms soon once more. They're cleaner."

Alyssa gave him a smirk. "Hopefully. The big crawly ones get to me as much as Cyrodiilian zombies do."

* * *

Deeper into the crypt, even the air began to taste different. It smelt nothing but ancient—and the coldness was starting to get to even us Nords. Every so often, beneath her dark leathers, I saw Alyssa give a small shiver, and I wondered if the echoes of her Cyrodiilian heritage were starting to affect her Nordic.

After making our way through a few more Draugr-styled burial crypts, we entered a room that appeared almost overgrown with ancient plants. Big, dead roots crawled and swept over the floor, and dead heather and bracken sprouted from the corners of upright (and thankfully silent) tombstones. The area was lit around here with little candles.

"How they managed to grow in this place surprises me," I commented.

"But these plants are long dead," Hakon said, as he knelt down beside the nearest and examined the tip of a bramble bush with his ghostly fingers. "I would say that these plants tried to grow here a very long time ago. Perhaps back to shortly after the tomb was constructed—and they have been untouched by time for centuries."

I glanced at Alyssa, to find that she had drawn just ahead and was pulling a small hand-lever on a stone podium at the end of the hall. Nearby, there was a rattling affirming click as a small portcullis leading into the next room was raised.

"Let's go," said Alyssa, as she led the way within. Hakon and I followed quickly after.

The moment that we stepped inside the room, however, I realized that we were probably going to be having the fight of our lives. There were at least two dozen tombstones lining this place. A large, cracked and very yellow mammoth skull with one tusk sat on an old crumbled altar in the centre of the room. It must've been there for as long as the plants in the other room had been. There was a large puddle on the ground, and water dripped in from a small worn crack on the ceiling. I wondered how deep underground we were—were we beneath a body of water? Would the cavern collapse in on us? I prayed it wouldn't—as much as I respected that the most noble Companions were buried here, I didn't want to be lost beneath a cascade of fallen ceiling and water.

And suddenly, this old chamber came to life—well, it came to life with the dead. Ghosts emerged from their tombstones, and turned towards us, drawing weapons and readying shields.

"_You have come far,_" whispered one particularly grandly-outfitted warrior. "_But you will progress no further._"

"You're optimistic," I said, and fired my arrow into his chest.

With a fearsome battle-roar, Hakon sprang into the action, his battleaxe cleaving through the foes that began to surround him like a warm knife through cheese. Alyssa was already adding an ebony arrow to her bowstring, and said, "A mug of Black-Briar mead to whoever scores the most bullseyes."

Oh, she wanted to play it like that, did she? I smirked. "Deal."

Our arrows sang through the air and thudded into the throat of the Draugr I had shot at a moment earlier. With a groan, he dissipated into the air, and our arrows clattered to the ground. I dived forward and picked out my two arrows from the ground, skillfully slotting one into my quiver, the other back to my bowstring. I jerked my body out of the way of the blade that came swishing down towards me, that otherwise would've most likely cleaved me in two if I hadn't moved, and planted my arrow in the new ghostly warrior's side.

"_Fool!_" the woman cried, as she moved forward, as though unaware of the arrow stuck in her hip. "_I am already dead!_"

"So are Draugr, and they're harder to kill than you!" I lashed out with my foot, catching her leg. She hissed and took a few paces backwards, giving me enough time to set another arrow to my bowstring, lift it, and fire it through her throat. She gargled with surprise, before she toppled over, vanishing into the air before her wraith-like body hit the ground.

I spun around as I heard approaching footsteps. I planted an arrow through an approaching spirit's leg, forcing him to collapse onto his good leg as he wrestled with the obstruction in his body. I slammed my bow over his helmet, knocking him sideways, and jerked another arrow from my quiver. Within a moment, his body, too, had vanished.

"Aela!" Alyssa suddenly cried.

I was about to ask what, when I suddenly realized what. I threw myself forward at the same time a greatsword cut the air just above my head. If I hadn't moved, I would've been decapitated. I rolled onto my back, one hand pulling out my dagger, as a Companion ghost loomed before me, greatsword in hand and a sneer on his face.

"_Join us,_" he hissed. "_Die, and live forever!_"

"Is it just me, or is that statement ironic?" I asked.

The greatsword came swishing down and I rolled to the side, only just missing the blade. Instantly I countered, slamming my legs against his, and throwing him off his feet and onto his back. I tightened my grip on my dagger, pushed myself to my knees and prepared to drive it into his throat. Through a pale, almost-transparent face, he smirked and lashed out with his arm, catching me heavily in the jaw. I cried out and fell backwards, the dagger slipping out from my fingers, slumping against the wall as I desperately tried to get back my senses.

The Companion heaved himself to his feet nearby, but as he prepared to drive his greatsword into my chest, my fingers brushed against something cold. I instantly wrapped my hand around its hilt and swung it up, barely deflecting the blow. But seeing that my foe was suddenly off-balance by my surprise parry, I took my chance and did what I always did when my adrenalin was up and a disused survival sense was kicking in again for the first time in a while...

I threw my dagger.

It spun three times in the air and planted itself through the weak link of chainmail between the Companion's shoulder pauldron and chestplate. I heard a _squelch_. The Companion's eyes widened for a moment in surprise, and he struggled for words. "_How...did you..?_" Then he had vanished, becoming a fading cloud of bluish-grey in the air as his body dematerialized. I caught my dagger before it hit the ground.

"All right there, Huntress?" I heard Hakon shout nearby. As I pushed myself to my feet, grabbing my bow as I did so, he stepped over, both seeing and unseeing eye bright with battle. "Not struggling too much?"

I found myself glowering at him—but yet, he reminded me of someone. "I'm a little more agile than the average warrior," I answered.

"Good to hear!" Four Companions stalked towards us. "And now let's see how agile you truly are with that little butter-knife of yours!"

"Butter-knife?" I spluttered indignantly. "This is a dagger that has tasted the blood of innumerable foes—now both alive and dead!"

"And this axe has tasted the blood of dragons and Alduin, both in life and in death!" Hakon threw me an oh-so-familiar grin. "How does that compare to a butter-knife that's tasted foes? Killed any dragons with it?"

I glared at him. "Were you like this in Sovngarde?"

"No, but I was like this in life!" Hakon leapt into battle once more, flinging one last cry over his shoulder: "It feels good, for a short time, to be alive again!"

And suddenly, I realized what this strange feeling was, what I had begun to feel when my pack had approached the tomb of Ysgramor, and what I had been feeling more and more of the deeper we progressed into the ancient fane.

Alive.

For so long, the wolf had been my master—and now, I felt free and unburdened by a constant snarl and rumble in my voice. I had embraced the wolf for so long that I had forgotten what it felt like to feel mortal and warrior-like, to lead a warrior's charge, to shout a battle-cry of my own. To feel, for the first time in a long time, not like a beast, but like a Nord.

I wasn't sure when the battle ended—but suddenly I fell sill, wisps of ectoplasm fading in the air before me. My dagger was still ice-cold from where it had driven into the heart of one and the throat of another. Hakon was breathing heavily, looking satisfied, his muscles bulging beneath his old Nordic armour as his battleaxe rested in his grip.

Alyssa drove her Nightingale Blade through the chest of one, and lashed out with her foot at one who was advancing at her from behind. As the ghost died around her blade she whirled around, engaging in swordplay with the nearest advancing ghost. In her eyes I could see fire—and for a moment, I saw a bold and brave warrior. A Dragonborn in her prime.

After a moment, I turned to Harkon. "What was she like, in Sovngarde?"

Harkon turned to me, and answered with one word:

"Pure."

Then he gave a small, sad smile. "It'll be some years before she comes to Shor's Hall again...or not, if Akatosh claims her for his Time Currents, to ensure that Alduin is kept in line. He fears her now—fears her, and yet demands her flesh."

I frowned and glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

Hakon sighed. "You will learn one day, warrior, the words that Alyssa follows now."

I stared at him. "And what did she follow before?"

He tapped at his throat. "She didn't. She was untamed and wild like any dragon. But when someone is broken by Alduin, even if they are repaired, they still bear the marks of his claws." He gestured across his face. "And though her heart is pure—" He tapped his armour-plated chest, just above where his own heart once beat "—her body will fail."

"That's both cryptic and ominous."

"Yes." Hakon sighed. "Isn't the future always?"

Then a sweet wind came into the old tomb, and I watched before my eyes as Hakon vanished into the air like stirred dust. Then he was gone—and I was aware that the chamber was silent once more.

Alyssa glanced up at me, and frowned slightly. "Has he gone?"

I nodded. "Back to Sovngarde?"

"Yes." Alyssa sheathed her weapons and approached me. "Are you all right, Aela? You look..." She frowned. "Well, the expression 'seen a ghost' wouldn't be very useful here, but you look as though you've just seen a bull elk with a prize pair of antlers and missed your chance to shoot at him." She looked perplexed. "Is that a good hunting expression?"

"Good enough." But I didn't think I was indignant. "No, it's nothing, I'm sure." I creased my brow. "Did...Alyssa, did anything...unusual...happen in Sovngarde?"

Alyssa smiled sadly. "A lot of things did." She paused. "Did Hakon give you a message, or something?"

I nodded. "How could you guess?"

"I thought he might one day," said Alyssa, and turned away thoughtfully. "It's the way of the spirits to be cryptic and let us figure out the messages."

I kept thinking over Hakon's words. My eyes drifted once more to Alyssa's scars. The dark eyes, the great big slashes across her face...

"Let's move on," said Alyssa, as she tightened her grip around the sack of Glenmoril witch heads. We turned to the double doors at the far end of the hall. Slowly, we moved towards it. I was aware just then exactly how tired I felt—but the power was growing stronger. I sensed that what we were searching for, what all our efforts had been for, lay just behind the doors. But now that we had come to this point, I was nervous.

Would our efforts have been for nothing?

Alyssa paused just in front of the doors. She looked them up and down. Then she turned to me, and she winked.

"I think I've earned that Black-Briar mead."

I couldn't resist a small smirk. "We'll see."

"We'll see indeed." Then Alyssa turned back to the doors, and together, we pushed them open, revealing the chamber that lay beyond—and something that I don't think either of us really expected to see.

* * *

**A/N: So I hope you guys enjoyed that! I made the parting of Warrior, Meeko and the twins kind of a bit more extreme because that's the last we'll be hearing from them in this particular fanfiction. Goodbye for now... and yeah, it kind of came to me halfway through writing this chapter that Alyssa should use her Call of Valor Shout - because it's a Shout that I think most people kind of forget about, and Hakon deserved his brief spot in the limelight of this fairly long chapter.**

**Next time, last chapter before the epilogue - and the twist hasn't come yet! I still have one more thing up my sleeve, and now I hope that you guys will like it! But this will be the chapter when Kodlak is, at last, cured, and the Huntress's journey is nearing her end.**


	67. Chapter 66 - Release

**A/N: Here we are, fellows. Chapter sixty-six...and also, I decided that we'd reunite ourselves with an old friend who reveals the truth about her lineage.**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Six

Within the chamber was dark and musty, but in the very centre stood a brazier filled to the brim with flickering blue fire, blue as a summer's sky. The air here was neither hot nor warm, but it tingled with a mysterious energy and magic that I both rejoiced within, and detested with all my heart. The two sides of my personality and my spirit could never have been more pronounced, and I knew why.

The Flame of the Harbingers stood in the centre of this room. It filled the dark chamber in a strange glow. Cautiously my wolf sniffed at the air, and recoiled once more with a whimper of fear. I looked around warily. There were tombstones nearby, but I sensed that no spirits would come to challenge us. We had reached our destination at last—they would leave us in peace.

But the Flame wasn't the only thing in this room. Both Alyssa and I stiffened in surprise when I saw who stood beside the flickering fire.

Very slowly, we walked forward. There was one spirit here—he stood near the Flame, warming his hands as though he were cold. But even though he was ethereal, and a strange, washed-out blue in colour, dull in contrast to the Flame, he was immediately recognizable.

But my voice caught in my throat, and I found myself unable to speak, even though a part of me was urging and desperate.

As we drew near, lowering our weapons, Kodlak Whitemane looked up.

"Greetings, Shield-Sisters."

His voice rang throughout the chamber, nearly as real as it had been in life, if not for the strange echo that followed his words, as though he were speaking from a great distance.

I glanced at Alyssa. Her face was very pale beneath her scars. She nearly dropped the sack of witch heads as she whispered, "Kodlak? Is that you?"

Kodlak gave her a small smile. "Of course," he said gently, rubbing his hands. "My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here. Trying to evade Hircine."

So this magic...it really did repel a Daedric Prince. No wonder the wolves detested it. Feared it.

I frowned slightly as I looked around. "But there's nobody else here," I said.

Kodlak turned to me and answered, "You see only me because your heart knows only me as the Companions' leader." He smiled a little and added, "Leiknir's here as well, I assure you, Huntress—but you knew him only by title, and not by heart."

It felt strange. I took a step backwards from the Flame of the Harbingers, suddenly wondering if some ghost still invisible to my eyes was currently standing near me, or in me, or I had unknowingly been stepping on his or her foot...

"Leiknir?" echoed Alyssa bemusedly.

"My predecessor," Kodlak explained. "In fact, speaking of predecessors, I'd wager old Vignar could see a half dozen of them. The old man's been with Jorrvaskr for a very long time indeed." Slowly, wonderingly, he went on. "And I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine's realm." Then his voice warmed. "And they all see you. You've brought honour to the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it."

Alyssa gave a small, weary sigh and dumped the sack upon the ground. "Seems like ghosts are really hard to impress. The ones here weren't too impressed with my coming—or Hakon's, come to think of it."

Kodlak chuckled, but didn't seem surprised that she had mentioned the Ancient Nord hero. I wondered if somehow, he had been watching our progress from the very beginning. "I assure you that they think highly of you, Dragonborn," he said. "The Companion who defies the Daedra, and Hircine in particular."

Alyssa rolled her shoulders a little and said, "We came here because Vilkas said you could still be cured. And I sure hope that I didn't lug this sack of stinking Hagraven brains halfway across Skyrim for nothing."

"Did he now?" Kodlak gave a small, uncertain smile. "I can only hope."

He nodded to the sack and said, "Throw one of the heads into the fire. It will release their magic—for me, at least," he added, seeing my sudden hesitation. I wasn't entirely certain if I wanted to give up the wolf—but what surprised me was that I wasn't immediately repulsed by the idea. It felt strangely satisfying, feeling like the warrior I once had been before the blood, for however short a time.

Alyssa glanced down at the sack, and then back at Kodlak. "And then what will happen?"

"My wolf spirit will be forced from my body—and you will have to defeat it," Kodlak answered. His voice softened. "And I am truly sorry that you must be the one to do this with me, that you must do this alone for me. I hope you are ready to return there."

I frowned and glanced at Alyssa. "Return where?"

But Alyssa had suddenly stiffened. "Wait...the journal..."

"Aye, so you did receive it in the end," Kodlak said, and his voice became all the more sorrowful. "And I will explain everything when this is over, and when I can finally be at peace."

Alyssa bit the bottom of her lip, but she slung her bow back over her shoulders, knelt down and unfastened the sack. Turning away and wrinkling her nose, she stuck her hand into the sack and withdrew a witch head—and I couldn't resist gagging slightly and turning away at the sight of it. By the Gods, it stunk, and it looked horrible. It resembled the head of a wrinkled-face, white-haired Hagraven, the unseeing eyes staring up at nothing and glazed so much that they were shiny in the candlelight and firelight, and dried blood crusted around the base of its severed neck and over its grotesque face.

Alyssa appeared queasy as she warily advanced towards the fire. "I really hope that this does what it's meant to do, Kodlak," she groaned.

Kodlak's voice was grave. "I hope so as well. I wish you luck, my friend."

Alyssa glanced at him. "And I to you, Harbinger."

And I watched as taking a deep breath, she threw the head onto the indigo coals.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the head caught fire—and became sheathed in a shimmering, burning blue flame. A foul odor filled the air, but the stench of magic grew and grew until it was nearly nauseating. The world seemed to be lost around me—the wolf was screaming in me, howling and clawing furiously at my insides. I heard Alyssa cry out and guessed that her wolf—Vargur, I remembered its name was—was struggling against this powerful magic as well. Through the haze I watched as Kodlak vanished into the air with a gasp. I watched as Alyssa's face suddenly become curiously passive, and her body fall to the ground as though her very spirit had been torn away from her.

And then suddenly, I heard Lupa's voice, after so long, murmur in my ear.

_Oh, come on, Huntress! No time to dally! I want you to see!_

I felt something tug at the fabrics of my consciousness, and the next thing I knew, I had left the world around me as well.

* * *

When my senses returned, I found myself falling forward onto soft, lush green grass. With a gasp I landed on my front, lying strewn out over the ground. For a moment I lay perfectly still—to be honest, I felt very...very...weird...

Then, cautiously, I looked up, seeing the grass blades gleam before me. They were edged in the faintest, shimmering golden glow.

Suddenly I straightened—I pushed myself into a kneeing position and stared around me in a daze. Beautiful golden-tinged green meadows flowed around me. Countless flowers bloomed and blossomed before me as though I had stumbled into a master alchemist's garden. There was a beautiful shimmering amber tinge in the air—and all I felt was energized. But as I pushed myself to my feet, I felt as though something was holding me back, and a sense inside of me was telling me that I should not be here.

And I could only guess why. As I turned my gaze to the sky, I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief. It was a riot of colour—auras of all colours, brilliant gold, crimson red, sapphire blue and blinding, pure white, dappling into an incredible display of light. At the very centre of the sky where the auras fell down was what seemed to be a portal of brilliant whiteness. It was as though it was leading up into Aetherius itself. Stars shone through the falling auras, three times as many stars as there ever were in Skyrim skies...stunned into a silent stupor, I looked down from the brilliant skies. The tall, dark mountains were the horizon, a gentle sloping pattern that separated sky from ground—and in the distance, I could faintly see a mighty structure, that even though I had never seen before, I knew immediately what it was.

But how...how could this be...?

"Very pretty, don't you think?"

I whipped around in slight alarm and amazement, but relaxed when I saw a vaguely familiar (and very large) she-wolf pad near me. Behind her tore a shimmering silverness that clung to the edges of her flowing, coal-black pelt. She turned sparkling earth-brown eyes to mine and smiled a wolven smile.

"Shor certainly was extravagant when he first made this place for the dead," said Lupa.

"But...am...am I really...?" The words fell broken from my mouth. I could hardly believe it...

And Lupa grinned. "Oh, but you are. For a limited time, mind. But this is something that I want you to see." She turned her snout forward, towards the distant shadow of Shor's Hall. "Come with me, child! I sense that the battle you have come to see is about to unfold." She bounded forward and I found myself running with her, though she moved on four legs and I on two. I did not seem to be a wolf here, but still in the skin of a Nord.

I tried not to fall behind too much, even though I could hardly believe what was happening. I was in Sovngarde. I was in _Sovngarde_...

Lupa and I slowed to a halt as the huge, mighty construct of the Whalebone Bridge came into sight. And just beyond, I could see two familiar figures, one clad in black, the other in grey Wolf armour. Before them...well, it was a huge black creature, but shuddering and wispy, as though it were a ghost of a ghost. A phantom amongst phantoms. Its eyes glittered silver and it threw open its jaws and let loose a wild, shrieking howl.

Even though they were some distance away, I could hear and see everything that was going on.

The wolf stalked forward, placing itself between the Whalebone Bridge and Shor's Halls, and Kodlak. Its eyes gleamed with menace. Hoarsely it whispered in the language of the wolves, _You are already Hircine's. You will not succeed. You cannot defeat me—I am your very existence!_

Alyssa, her hood thrown back and her dark eyes gleaming with an almost uncanny light, turned to Kodlak. Together, they nodded. They seemed to know what they were meant to do, and remembering the dream that I had learned of, the dream that years ago Kodlak had had, they turned back to the wolf, and as one, drew their weapons.

"Purity," said Alyssa softly. "Release. This is how it was always meant to be."

Kodlak raised his mighty battleaxe, the same that he had used on the day of his death. "This is where my dream ends—and where my fate is decided hereon!" His voice thrummed with more energy than I had heard in years, and suddenly I remembered Kodlak the way I had remembered him, when I first had met him—as the bold, powerful, brave warrior who had ridden alongside Leiknir Silver-Bane and Skjor Eagle-Eyes of the Companions the first day I had ever met him.

"It is a glorious thing for a man to choose his fate!" Kodlak shouted. "And I will carve it here and now. You control me no longer, wolf! Here, I am my own, and you will not drag me to the Hunting Grounds!"

The wolf threw back its head and roared with rage. In a flash, it had raced forward, but as Kodlak prepared to take the brunt of it, Alyssa whirled around with more speed than I had ever seen her. Her Nightingale Blade swished through the air at lightning speed, striking the wolf and knocking it off-balance. With a wild shriek, it fell back, and as it staggered, Kodlak swung his axe into its side.

Roaring, the wolf fell back a few paces, stunned and breathless. Then it narrowed its eyes and snarled once more, and charged with frightening speed. And again, Alyssa was the first to leap in. With a savage cry, she drove her sword through its flanks and jerked it free. The wolf whirled around to bite her, but she twirled the Blade in her fingertips so the wolf's jaws closed around steel. With a shriek of surprise and a whimper, it withdrew, snarling, ears flattened in challenge.

"Can a spirit even be killed?" I wondered softly aloud. I jumped at the sound of my voice—I think I had forgotten that I was here.

Lupa turned to me with a knowing expression in her eyes. "Of course!" she said. "And right now, Kodlak's Wolf is putting up an admirable fight!" She wagged her tail and sat down, thoroughly enjoying herself. "Oh, this is the most interesting thing I've done in centuries! Hircine won't be too pleased to be denied another wolf—well, providing that Kodlak and Alyssa fail, of course, but I have confidence that they'll succeed in their endeavours."

I glanced at Lupa the wolf-wife in surprise. "You _want_ Kodlak to win?"

Lupa shrugged. "Oh, no—so unlike my husband, _wanting _has nothing to do with it this time," she said. "But I don't _need _him to win, and I'm not attached to him—but it's rather like betting on your favourate combatant in that arena-place down south. You bet on them not because you fear for their health and safety and you want them to survive—you just want them to _win, _and I'm rather feeling like this now." She glanced at me and rolled her eyes impatiently. "I'm not a Daedra," she said. "So I know mercy and love better than my husband. Not as much as the Aedra, of course, particularly since emotion is such a fickle _mortal_ thing, but Kodlak's been a good warrior, and it's what he really wants. Plus, he's determined. Most would've given up the first time. But not he, it seems! I have to admit, I admire him for that." She narrowed her eyes at me suddenly and added, "And don't you go telling Hircine I said that! Else I'll tell him you were very dull and unpleasant—and who knows? Maybe the Bloodmoon will rise again..."

"I won't tell," I said.

Lupa smiled. "That's good. Now hush! I want to see the outcome. This is heating up _nicely_..." She wagged her tail as she turned her attention back to the fight, as did I.

With a tremendous roar, the wolf pounded forward. Its jaws nearly closed on Kodlak's wrist. But it seemed as though the years were falling away from him—Kodlak was moving with nimbleness and grace, his movements becoming as fluent as that of a younger warrior's. His eyes began to shine like stars as he struck the wolf again and again. Alyssa smiled in satisfaction as she rolled out of the way of its pounding paws and snapping jaws, and slit a wound through its shoulder in passing. The wolf howled, staggering, starting to show signs of weakening.

"Go back to the plains, beast," snarled Kodlak, as he advanced towards it, battleaxe in hand. "You are mine no more. I dismiss you from my service—go and begone! The curse upon the Companions is broken—and may Hircine know this!"

The wolf bared its fangs in a gesture of endless defiance. _Hircine will find you, foolish old man! And you will receive an eternity of torture for what you have done today!_

Kodlak merely smiled mirthlessly as he raised the axe above his head. "Not if I get to him first."

Then, with all the strength that he possessed, he brought it down, and cleaving the wolf's head.

There was a dreadful shriek, and the wolf jerked back violently, its body thrashing in its death throes. It was as though it were trying to fight to remain, but its body was fast dissipating. In silence, Kodlak watched as his wolf soul began to vanish before his eyes. Alyssa lowered her Nightingale Blade, her eyes narrowed.

"And when you get to the Hunting Grounds," she said to it, "you can tell Hircine that he can try all he can. But he's not getting _me_."

And suddenly, with a final, thrashing, whimpering cry, there was a small explosion of black, and suddenly the wolf had gone.

And Kodlak heaved a mighty sigh.

"And it is done at last," he murmured, as he slung his axe over his shoulders. He turned to Alyssa, and bowed his head low. "So slain is the beast inside of me."

"Are you all right?" Alyssa asked, concerned. "Are you...are you pure?"

Kodlak smiled. "Aye—that I am, girl. Released from the clutches of the Daedric Prince, I have chosen, for the first time in a long time, my own fate. And I know that finally, so will Farkas and Vilkas...and perhaps even yourself, should you so wish yourself to be freed of the beast inside of you."

Alyssa gave him a rueful grin. "Yeah...well...Vargur technically is only a small part of me." She looked around at the glory of Sovngarde surrounding her. "This, Kodlak, this is where I am meant to be. By the Divines, doesn't it feel good to return here."

Kodlak placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Shield-Sister...or should I say, Harbinger...I am indebted to you, in more ways than can be described. It is through your efforts that you have fulfilled my last wish, and now I am free to live out my death in the place of dreams and glory, the way that a warrior should."

I saw Alyssa hesitate. "But...Kodlak, the journal...I...why? _Why_ did you choose me?"

Kodlak's face softened with sympathy. "My dear girl," he said, "I chose you because you are the right woman to lead and guide the Companions."

Alyssa stared at him, shaking her head. "But Kodlak, I can't be."

"Oh? And why can't you?"

She bowed her head and murmured, "Look at me, Harbinger. I'm a thief—I'm a thief, and an assassin, as well as a warrior and undeserving Arch-Mage. I'm Dragonborn, but my place is with the shadows. I don't understand glory like the Companions do, and I don't agree with many Nordic customs, despite who I am. I feel that I have seen enough of this for a lifetime. I came to the Companions to be healed—I didn't expect to be given the role of leadership, of responsibility I know that I won't be able to uphold. The Guild is my first family, and I care for them, and I love every member of the Companions...but..."

"But you feel that it is not your place to be Harbinger?" Kodlak prompted gently.

Alyssa shook her head. "Vilkas was your second. Why not him?"

Kodlak sighed. "Alyssa," he said, using her name, "I chose you not because of your past. I chose you not because of your blood, or because of your nature. I chose you because you are a warrior, a warrior who is not like others—for both good, and...less-good. But because you are a warrior who above all, knows how to _care_. Who knows how to love, who shows compassion when compassion is needed to be shown, who remembers what she has lost before she loses more. It is your wisdom that will guide the Companions for the years to come."

Alyssa lowered her eyes. "But...but Kodlak..."

"You are unwilling," said Kodlak firmly, "but I know that I am right in my choice." He placed two hands on her shoulders now. "Your time as the Companions' leader is not yet. It will come in the years that are to follow. When Skyrim is thrown into new dangers, that is when you will know that it is time for you to become the Harbinger."

Alyssa hesitated. "So my time is not yet?"

"No, my girl. Not yet. But it will come." Kodlak smiled warmly to her. "As do all things, in the end."

For a moment, he and Alyssa gazed at one another, and then pulled each other into a tight embrace. Then they broke away, and turned their attention to the Whalebone Bridge. I realized that now standing before it was a huge, mighty figure who I realized could only be Tsun. Truly, he was enormous, twice as tall as any man, thrice as broad, but with kind, approving eyes, he turned to Kodlak.

"You are a worthy warrior to have defied such a thing as the darker side of his soul," he said, his voice rumbling through the heavens. "And the Halls of Shor are open to you, friend. We will sing many songs of this defeat for the decades to come."

Kodlak seemed taken aback. He pressed a fist over his heart and bowed his head, and Tsun repeated the gesture, before he stepped aside, revealing the bridge. Then he turned back to Alyssa. "I will wait for you, like many others, when your time comes to rejoin us at last, Dragonborn."

Alyssa smiled at him. "Go and meet Ysgramor and the Ancient Nord Heroes." She paused suddenly. "But can you pass on a message?"

Kodlak paused. "What messages do you wish to tell them?"

"A few: tell Ysgramor that I _really_ don't think much of his tomb, and he seriously needs to do some renovating—and if you bump into the Five Hundred Companions, tell them that if they think of challenging me like they did today again, then I'm more than ready to beat them back here!" Just beyond, Tsun was roaring with laughter, and Kodlak was simply looking both bemused and incredulous, as though he thought he shouldn't be saying such things to such noble warriors of legend. "And for the three: tell Hakon thanks for his aid in the tomb, Gormlaith that I've killed about twenty more dragons since Alduin and I can fully roast her with my Thu'um if I'm angry enough, and Felldir that when I'm next heading up to Winterhold I'm introducing him to Tolfdir. Oh! And I've nearly forgotten—tell Ysgramor that Farkas and Vilkas send their regards."

Kodlak stared at her for a moment, before slowly nodding and saying, "I'll...do that. And thank you, Alyssa, for this gift." His voice became thoughtful. "But the other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps here, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The harrowing of the Hunting Grounds...It will be a battle of such triumph." He turned to Alyssa. "Perhaps some day, you will join us in that battle."

"Thanks, Kodlak. And perhaps some day." Alyssa glanced up at Tsun and informally saluted him. "Good to see you again, big man."

"And you also, Dovahkiin," Tsun responded, getting over his mirth.

Alyssa watched as Kodlak began to cross the Whalebone Bridge. She gazed at the Halls almost longingly, as though waiting for someone to come out. Then, she half-shook her head, seemed to decide something, and turned away, heading back down the trail, and softly singing to herself as she sheathed the sword into her scabbard.

And I heard footsteps crunching on the grass nearby, and a voice murmur, "Aela?"

I stiffened—in total amazement, because it was a voice I was certain that I was never going to hear again.

I turned towards the speaker—and saw that, by the Divines, it was her. Smiling at me, her eyes full of warmth and love, her joy barely being expressed. I felt the same rising within me, and I turned towards her. She smiled, and walked the last few steps over to me, and tightly we embraced like sisters.

"It's...words can't describe!" Eiwen stared at me in complete happiness. "When I saw Alyssa fighting off the wolf of Kodlak, I wondered if you might be here as well...I so vaguely hoped, and then I saw you...and..."

"Eiwen!" I stared at her, astonishment and elation flooding through me. "How in the name of Hircine did you find your way here?!"

Eiwen smirked. "Are you really that stupid, Aela?" Her voice was teasing and carefree. "Sovngarde isn't just restricted for Nords, you know. Sovngarde is for those noble of heart and worthy of spirit. Those in Shor's Hall saw me worthy—and now here I am. I found my way to this beautiful place, and I have to say I think I like it far more than Aetherius might ever have been. This is a place of warriors—and this is the place I was meant to be ever since I died."

I looked her up and down. She looked better than I had ever seen her. She was dressed in the armour that she had died in, but her skin was exposed, and it seemed to glow amber like the fires in Jorrvaskr. Her eyes were a clear gold, sparkling with her joy and elation at seeing me again. Her long hair was twisted back, and her shapely features defining her as a Bosmer more prominent. Her bow slung over her shoulders, her quiver of arrows still full.

"Though this may be the last time we meet," said Eiwen, sounding slightly disheartened, as her eyes drifted to just over my shoulder. I knew she was gazing at Lupa, and I saw dismay fall across her face. She turned to me and said, "Are you like Kodlak, Aela? Are you a werewolf?"

I nodded. "I have been for many years now."

Eiwen smiled very sadly. "I shouldn't be surprised to hear that you're a daughter of the moon. With all the hunting that you did in your time with us, it was inevitable that Hircine would take an interest. But I am sad knowing that we may never meet again."

"But I'm glad that you and Kodlak will be together," I said. "And you're judged by the fire in your heart, not by the colour of your skin."

Eiwen gave a small sigh. "You know, Aela...there is something that I think I should tell you now." She half-turned away, her eyes glazing with nostalgia, and she said, "Do you remember when you first met me? I was brawling with Derrick."

I nodded. The memory was one of my fondest of the Companions, to be honest. "You were pretty pissed off with him."

Eiwen nodded. "And why I hate him?" She sighed. "I was always, _always_ terrified that he would have discovered my secret."

"Secret?" I stared at her. "What secret?"

"I'm not pure Bosmer," Eiwen stated. "You wouldn't really know—you've barely met any Bosmer unless they're bandits trying to kill you, and you hardly notice much about their features before and after you kill them. I consider myself Bosmer because it's easier..." Her breath shook slightly. "...than calling myself Altmer."

I stared at her in slight amazement. "You're...half-Altmer?"

Eiwen nodded. "A Bosmer's skin is mostly the roan colour of humans, not gold like mine," she said. "I've always been half-Altmer, but I've embraced the ways of Bosmer culture because I'm far more proud of my father than I ever was of my mother. My father, I loved, and my mother...well, I'm not sure if she ever loved me, but we had a neutral relationship for most of my childhood." She sighed. "Derrick was always onto my case. He thought I was half-Altmer, and he was right, and when he discovered my ties to the Dominion, well..." Ruefully she shrugged. "I'd never hear the end of it. Strange, though—he's a man who hates what his mother's become as well."

"But, Eiwen...who _is_ your mother?" I was confused. "Why are you so ashamed of her? You've never really mentioned this before..."

"Yes, well, I feel that it's time I finally told somebody, and who else than you, Aela?" Eiwen smiled a little understanding. "You're neutral to conflict, so I feel I can trust you. I suppose there isn't harm telling you now that Elenwen is my mother."

Above all things, this was not what I had expected.

Sensing my total amazement, Eiwen nodded and said, "Half-Altmer. Dominion's Daughter, I suppose. I'm glad that nobody really found out who my mother was—and my own mother seemed to have forgotten that I was her daughter at all. I'm not too hurt by it—my father is here as well, and I don't think Elenwen really considered me her flesh and blood, anyway. I'd have felt more like an outsider than ever, particularly if the Nords knew." She sighed, paused, and looked surprised. "Wow. Suddenly...I feel less burdened. I feel released. How liberating it is to share a secret that I've carried around for so long!"

"I know the feeling," I conceded. "But, Eiwen...how come you've never told me that you're Elenwen's daughter?" I placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "I'd have _never_ judged you on account of your blood. Did I ever tell you about _my_ flesh and blood? My brothers became thieves, and one of them joined my enemies the Silver Hand. Look at the Breton twins—what _they_ had for family."

Eiwen smiled slightly. "That's true," she conceded. "But...I guessed that, well, somebody ought to know my own lineage. I hope I won't be forgotten—and I do hope Ornith's been taking care of himself."

"He is," I assured her. "He's in happy retirement. His niece and nephew live in Whiterun now, one of them the Housecarl of Whiterun's Jarl, the other a loyal and steadfast Companion, who's just as prickly with Elven pride as you were!"

Eiwen laughed. "I'm glad that Ornith is well," she said. "And I'm glad that you are well also, Huntress." She looked down the grassy bank. Alyssa was approaching us, and she was looking curiously between me and Eiwen. "I suppose I must take my leave now, Aela. But...oh, dear Shield-Sister, take care of yourself. You have done many great things, so I am told, between my death and our reunital."

I smiled to her. "I'm glad you found your way to the land of heroes, Eiwen. It's no less than you deserve."

She placed a hand on my shoulder and looked deep into my eyes. "Farewell, Huntress. You've fulfilled my last request well. Continue to be a great Companion, Aela."

I placed a hand on hers. "Farewell, Eiwen. Look after yourself."

She held gazes with me for a long moment. Then Eiwen turned and headed away, walking down the grassy hill with a small spring to her step, as she moved towards the Whalebone Bridge and the distant Halls of Valor.

Alyssa stared after her, and then turned to me.

"Who was she?"

I remembered Alyssa's hatred of the Thalmor, and suddenly guessed that she wouldn't take such news well. So I shrugged and said, "An old friend. Early Companion, and one of the first who ever welcomed me to Jorrvaskr."

Alyssa frowned at me and commented, "And what are you and Lupa doing here?"

I was about to respond, when I realized what she said and glanced at Lupa, who was sitting and smiling at the pair of us, looking nothing but amused. "You two have met before?"

"After you mentioned her to me some months ago, she paid me a visit." Alyssa narrowed her eyes at Lupa. Then she said, "Did you bring Aela to Sovngarde?"

Lupa shrugged. "I thought it would be mighty amusing for her to watch what happens when one tries to defy their soul." She turned to me. "And I don't suppose you'll be willing to part with yours, little cub?"

I shook my head, stepping away. "Oh, no, never."

"Oh!" Lupa didn't appear surprised, but she said, "You don't even want the chance to be with your Elven friend again?"

"Eiwen was one of the closest friends I ever had," I told her—told both Lupa and Alyssa. "But though I'm going to miss her, and remember her, I'm not going to sacrifice who I am to be in Sovngarde again. This place is glorious—but I know that I cannot be here. This is not my place to be—my place is with Hircine, my Lord, my Father." My hand closed around my pendant. "Nothing is ever going to change that. All my life, I called myself she-wolf. I think I have always known that one day it would define my very being. Besides...I have many friends waiting in the Hunting Grounds for me."

Lupa smiled a toothy grin. "That's my Huntress," she said. "And you, Alyssa? Your thoughts on the blood?"

"I have none," Alyssa answered mildly. "Because Vargur's merely...a resident spirit. Not mine. There to keep my more dragonish self under control." She frowned. "But is his real name Vargur? Or is it just something that I call him?"

"Oh..." Lupa shrugged vaguely. "It's...just _right_, you know, to call him Vargur. I mean, nothing else would suit such a wolf like him. Bold and boisterous thing, isn't he?" She beamed at Alyssa. "I'm so _glad_ to see that you two pups are getting along _so_ well. That means I made the right pair for you two. Now come along, I think it's high time that you return to Mundus now. Hircine is going to murder me when he finds out exactly how long I've permitted you two to stay here."

"Mother," I said, as Lupa turned, ready to leave. "Do you...do you _know_ Vargur?"

She flicked one ear impatiently and answered, "Well, of _course_ I do, Huntress! And you ought to as well."

I frowned. "I...should?"

As whiteness enfolded us, I saw Lupa grin knowingly and say, "Farewell for now, my lovely pups! And in answer to your question before, Huntress, of course you should know him. Cunning one, he is. He was the one who bit your arm all those years ago."

And leaving me to ponder and revel over that, Lupa vanished in the enfolding whiteness, and we left Sovngarde and returned to the world of the living.

* * *

I came to and sat up, the back of my head throbbing slightly where I had cracked it on the stone. I looked around—there I was, still in the tomb of Ysgramor, lying near the Flame of the Harbingers. Nearby, Alyssa was sitting up as well, stretching slightly and rolling her shoulders.

"Well," she admitted, "that was a new experience."

I slowly nodded. Of all things I had been expecting when she had put that head in the Flame of the Harbingers...I hadn't quite expected that turnout.

"You all right?" I asked.

Alyssa nodded. "To be honest," she said, "I have _never_ felt better. It feels as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. And I have never felt more liberated than I have today."

We stood up and brushed ourselves down. Then we looked at each other.

"I overheard what Kodlak told you about becoming Harbinger," I said. "And..."

Alyssa nodded. "I feel at peace. I'm no longer afraid to accept my new responsibilities—but they may have to be put on hiatus for a while..."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong." Alyssa looked about the silent place and sighed. "But I've come to a decision, Huntress. It's one I've been brooding over for quite a while. My return to Sovngarde today confirmed my decision, and I realize that while today I may feel peace, tomorrow, men and women are still bleeding and dying."

"And what decision is that?"

Alyssa gave a tired sigh. "From one war to another. I'm going to join the Stormcloak rebellion."

Again, I was stunned into speechlessness for the second time that day. But I eventually said, "Any...particular reason why you want to do it now?"

Alyssa gave a small nod. "It's high time that this foolish war is ended," she admitted. "And I'm not going to rest until Skyrim is free from such bloody woes."

I frowned. "But why the rebellion?" Ulfric still left a less-than-pleasant memory in my mind, even though it had been many years since last we had met. "Why not the Empire...?"

Alyssa snorted. "Why do you think?" She tapped her collarbone meaningfully, and I remembered about her pendant, and what had happened to her family. "Plus, I have good reason to be fighting under the name of Talos."

"Why? Because you're his successor?"

"Yes, well, that's a logical reason," Alyssa conceded. "But it's more than that. The Thalmor say that Talos isn't a God? Ha! One of the main reasons that they destroyed my family is because we knew that they were wrong. They destroyed the Blades for that same reason—because the blood of a Divine was needed for a ritual that occurred two hundred years ago, in the continuing search for the Amulet of Kings during the Oblivion Crisis. The blood of Tiber Septim was used, and that opened the way." She shrugged. "The Elves and the rest of the world really are foolish. The Blades knew the truth. My family knew the truth. We had evidence. And the bloody, blasphemous Elves just didn't want to be wrong. Plus, I supposed they feared the secrets of the past Age that my family and the Blades had. And now they continue to search for me because I still know, even if I can't prove it." She smiled a little sadly and added, "As well as that, a part of me respects Ulfric. He had the courage to stand against greater opposition, both in the Great War and now the Empire and the Dominion. I don't like the man, but I do respect him for his determination and courage."

She paused thoughtfully and added, "And you know what, Huntress? I don't think I'm going to regret my choice."

I looked at her sadly. "So you're leaving the Companions?"

"Not forever," Alyssa assured me. She placed a hand solemnly on my shoulder and added, "and whenever you want to go hunting, or if you just want to talk...you need only ask. I'm yet to teach you how to kill the greatest quarries ever to come to Skyrim, you know." She grinned. "Wouldn't the Blades love to use your talents as a hunter. Imagine if you became a true _dovah_—dragonkind-hunter."

I grinned. "That sounds like a fantastic idea, my friend. Let's go tell the twins what's happened—I can't wait to see the reactions on their faces when they realize they've missed out on a little trip to Sovngarde."

"Nor can I. Vilkas's jaw was pretty much hitting the floor when I first told him about my experience meeting Ysgramor."

As we turned to leave, I glanced back at the Flame of the Harbingers. "The heads..."

"Leave them there," Alyssa said. "I'm sure as Oblivion not lugging those stinking things back and forward. And if the twins one day want to be cured, all we need to do is make the journey here again, although I hope I don't have to head to Sovngarde a third and fourth time for their sakes. Twice in life, I think, is enough."

She paused, and glanced at me, dark hair falling around her, black eyes gleaming with curiosity. "But do you have any regrets, Aela? Choosing this path for yourself—the path of a warrior, a hunter, and the life of a wolf? Knowing that you're never going to see Sovngarde's magnificent shine again?"

I halted at her words, intrigued despite myself. Did I have any regrets?

But I found myself turning to her and smiling. "No. I truly don't." The wolf within me lifted its head and pricked its ears as I went on. "As much as I hate Panjor now, he taught me all he knew about hunting—and in a way, he was the one to set me on this path at all. I sealed my fate by joining the Companions, and my destiny upon becoming moonborn. And ever since that first day I walked into Whiterun and into Jorrvaskr, I have had no regrets. The experiences, good and bad, and the memories, joyful and sorrowful, I _will_ treasure forever. If not for the Companions, and if not for my love for the wilderness, I don't know what I would have made of my life."

Alyssa smiled, and the wolf within me straightened and howled.

"And I'm not surprised," Alyssa said. "I'm privileged to know you, Aela. One day, I'll learn about your story—more about the generation of legendary Companions that came before the ones I know today."

It was then that I saw what Kodlak had sensed within her, why he had chosen her as Harbinger, and why she would, perhaps, be the greatest that we have ever known. It was because even though Alyssa was both dragon and wolf, scarred by a God and traumatized by her past, she still knew what it was to be human. Warmly, she smiled. "You truly are Lupa's daughter, Aela—Hircine's Champion, and I am proud to know you. Sovngarde was never meant to be your place of rest—it is a place for warriors, but you are not a warrior and, truthfully, I believe you never have been.

"You have always been, and always will be, the Huntress."

END OF PART FIVE

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**A/N: Not quite over yet, remember! But my golly, one more chapter...I never imagined I'd see this day coming...but at last, at long last, Aela's journey has come to an end. Also, just before I forget, I'm going to be doing a big cleanup of The Huntress soon - rechecking every chapter, removing these PMs, editing little mistakes, stuff like that. But favour! I want to try and crack 200 reviews before the end - so you know what to do, loyal readers, lurkers and followers! And trust me, I know I have a LOT of lurkers!**


	68. Epilogue - Memories

**A/N: Guys...I cannot believe it. But this is it. The epilogue. The final chapter.**

**I wish to thank all of my beloved reviewers who have reviewed The Huntress to the time of this posted chapter: MasterAssassinScrolls, moonflower04, Y-ko, RedDove2, The Questionmark, Malachi3134, Lord Jacob of Writing, MadameHyde, Shadr, Dragonbron666, Clarkstone, Galmar Stone-Fist, littlejuliet, ARavingLoony, Purple256, MasterAssassin2012, skyflower51, BrunetteAuthorette99, ArgonianCallum33, SimonStormcloak, Yoyocrazy3, Reyow, ay1234, Guest(s), Trap3r, Nooshoak, james, AAA, JDM, Sobe, Annonimous4862, Count Bathory, Baby Fawn, KrystylSky, MarcUK, Hawk Striker, philbo, undertaker87, Dante Beridium, Sun, Kwtwix, Smytheairguard, Morby, Taylorloe, Btr, Lennartz-L02 and last but not least, CampsMcCamper! You all have been wonderful - I thank you for taking the time to read, review and comment on my story that has truly spread its wings and taken flight since I posted the first chapter roughly nine months ago.**

**I also am pleased to report that to the time I have posted this chapter, this story has officially received 24,950 viewings. An incredible number; I'm gobsmacked. So that's how I know I have a LOT of lurkers out there! Lurkers, I thank you as well!**

**And now, the final chapter that will close the curtain on Aela's story...thank you all again so much, so so much.**

* * *

Epilogue

"_...and when Akatosh's Wings sent fire through the sky,_

"_...then did Evil perish, then did Darkness die!..._"

The song ends with a great round of applause that resonates through the wooden halls of Jorrvaskr. Everybody cheers, even though the song, for some, brings back many bittersweet memories. In the glow of firelight, I can even see a stray tear sneak discreetly out from the corner of a Companion's eye.

Freia lowers her goblet and takes a swig of mead. As she sets it down, she says, "So ends another day in the company of the Companions."

"Aye," says Athis. His hair is whiter than I remember it to be, and his crimson eyes are a tad lighter than they had been several years ago. The life of a warrior ages even the time-gifted Dunmer. "But it is a good way to end the day."

I couldn't have agreed more. I smile vaguely to myself as I take a sip of water. Wine and mead too strong for both me and my wolf at this old age, and I find myself craving only the plainest foods. Memories swamp me; both from the song, and from the knowledge that it was done, my book. It had come out longer than I expected. But it contained all that the world needed to remember the noble, early Companions.

After a moment, as though inspired by the thought, Freia turns to me and says, "How fare you, Aela? Finished that book of yours?"

"Aye," I affirm. My voice is but a rasp now, with a slight tremor in the words, worn from a lifetime of battle-cries and instructions on how to wield a bow to the younger whelps. "It's all done."

"Excellent!" says Athis brightly. "I'll have to read it."

"You'll read it," I assure him. "All the whelps can, if they want."

Athis takes another sip of mead. "I'd rather continue the legacy of my uncle than become a member of the Circle," he says. "I'm not sure I'm going to be keeping up this life for much longer. It can have its toll." His eyes clouded with sadness. I feel sympathy for him—he and Njada had resolved their tensions before they had parted ways, and I hoped that the fiery Nord had found her way to peace and glory as she so rightly deserved.

"How's Irileth?" asks Freia.

Athis shrugs. "She sent me a letter a couple of weeks ago. She's enjoying raising the twins in Mournhold, but she misses Whiterun. She says that when Ermoth and Sildoth are old enough then she'll take them north for a visit. The twins are especially keen for a recount of the Closing Wars, coming from the mouth of one of the warriors who had fought in it." He looks pointedly at me, and I smile sadly back at him. The memory of the Closing Days was a painful one. It had troubled my mind for nearly fifteen years to this day.

Was it not fifteen years of stinging betrayal that I had felt? In old age, the peaceful elder can make many connections in their life; and sometimes, so can a patient youth. I haven't seen Panjor since his own awakening, and I am glad of it.

"When are they coming up?" asks Freia, leaning forward. A familiar pendant swings at her throat.

"Sometime in Sun's Height," answers Athis, pleased at his Shield-Sister's enthusiasm. "When Skyrim is warmest." He ruefully grins.

I hear movement nearby. It seems like the Companions are moving off to bed. Bed, actually, sounds like a rather good idea. I've been feeling rather tired all day. When I had put my quill down, it seemed to have taken a great burden from my shoulders, but it had left me feeling unusually wearisome. The wolf didn't appear flustered, though. It had settled comfortably in the back of my mind, dormant, snoozing absently in the shadows of my subconscious.

Shakily I push myself away from the table, and onto my feet. Freia glances at me with concern in her bright blue eyes, and she asks, "Are you all right, Aela? You need help?"

"I'm all right," I answer quietly, as I stand. My bones ache, and I'm glad I don't have to walk far. Old scars stretch over my skin. "I can get downstairs by myself."

Freia frowns a little, as though willing to contradict me. But she relents and says, "Fine, fine, suit yourself, Aela. I'll come down to check on you in a little while, if you want."

"I don't want," I reply. "I don't want anything but a bit of peace to myself."

"Come now, Aela, what more do you possibly have to do?" Athis asks incredulously. "Stay a little longer and have another tankard with us. Tell me another tale of your old hunts. What about the time when you and Skjor first went hunting together?"

I smile fondly at the memory. "You already know what happened," I tell him. "He showed me that he truly had an eagle's eye. He accompanied that restless youth from Rorikstead who appeared much better than when they first had met."

Gods, that memory is old. So old.

Then Freia says, "I'm still going to check on you in a few hours, Aela."

"All right," I say, with a sigh. Freia is insistent, but she means only good, and truthfully I'm too fond of her to argue for much more. She must see me as her responsibility. I'm still amused by it. "But at least can you spare me a night's rest? You can get me up at sunrise in the morning if you want to be useful."

"At sunrise? It's nearly midnight! You're not a warrior any longer—" Freia begins indignantly.

"I'm perfectly aware of that," I say. "But old habits die hard."

Freia gives a small sigh. "All right, then. Good night, Huntress."

"Good night."

As I make my way from Jorrvaskr I have to walk slower, because I'm starting to feel tiny little pains in my heart. Perhaps they are old scars coming loose, because the simple conversation between Athis, Freia and I has stirred old memories. I pass by the empty case where the fragments of Wuuthrad once were held—and once were stolen—and now it holds only dust, making my way slowly down the stairs, and think: yes, it has been fifteen years since the Closing Wars. The fifteenth year of the Fifth Era. The skies of Skyrim have been strangely quiet since. For a while I continued to hunt, but when it became harder and harder to pull back my string, to roam further across rugged, unruly lands, to have the patience and energy to follow a track for hours on end, I knew that the time had come for me to put up my bow and exchange my armour for a dress of felt and sheathe my dagger into its scabbard one last time.

When had I been born? Ah, yes. 4E169, though I can't remember the date of my birth. I'm fairly certain it's in the summertime. This year was 5E15, a young Era. It had been Year 218 when the Fourth Era had ended. That made me sixty-three. It was an age that few warrior Nords could hope to attain, and an age that I carried with pride.

I head towards my room. The coolness and the shadows of the undercroft are welcoming. A few lingering whelps smile in my general direction. They greet me, nod their heads, ask me for help with their archery the following morning. Normally, I oblige, as I have nothing better to do. But the pains in my heart are growing more insistent. The tiredness is dragging at my limbs, and my body calls for bed. I don't answer them, and keep on determinedly walking. It seems like such an effort.

At last, I reach the comfort and peace of my bedroom. I step inside and close the door. My hand brushes against the lock, but it has been many years since I last have had to use it. Then, I give a sigh, as I look about my abode that has served me well for nearly my entire time with the Companions. A trophy of mighty giant antlers that so long ago I had pulled from the corpse of a fine black stag hangs mounted on the wall above a display case that contains my treasured bow. The quiver of arrows, still full, still sharpened, hangs beside my dagger, strapped in its sheath. The mannequin in the corner bears my armour. It's old and worn out like I am.

I'm suddenly struck with a furious urge to put it on. I move towards it. My hands shake as I fumble with the clasps. The cuirass lurches but I catch it. My bones protest and I slide it carefully over my body. It's stiff and heavy. The wolf opens its eyes curiously and grunts in puzzlement. Why am I doing this? Even I don't really know. All I do know is that it both feels good to be in my old armour again, and even more tiring. My heart's positively throbbing now. My head's whirling with memory. Each time my fingers brush against a chink, a scar, a gauge that the smith at the Skyforge never really managed to get out of it, I'm struck with nostalgia, and I'm thrown into memory each time I touch a part of my armour that bears a scar I remember of its origin.

Then, suddenly, there I am. The final buckle has been tightened. The armour lies over my body. It feels dreadfully heavy, weighing me down. Could I really have moved with such ease in it before? I stand looking at myself. The wolf amulet of Hircine lies over my chest, over my feebly beating heart. Out of habit, I gently enclose my hands around it.

I don't attempt to enter the Communal, however. I haven't, for many years. But for a moment, I see myself. My hair is russet again. My face is smooth, and my limbs are supple. My body is strong and my mind is clear and within my blood courses the fire of the heart and the lust for battle, and in my mind the wolf whispers of the pack and the hunt and the kill.

I am a Huntress once more.

And I smile, because I feel like me, who I am, who I have always been.

The weight of the metal presses down on my shoulders. I turn towards the bed, and slowly move towards it, but as I do, something catches in the firelight. A candle splutters on the nightstand, and I glance towards it. My eyes drift to the upper drawer, and suddenly I remember what is inside.

Slowly I move towards it. With trembling hands I pull the drawer open. I find what I am looking for instantly; it is impossible to miss. I reach into the drawer. The wolf pricks its ears and leans forward out of interest. Then, I lift it up. There is a faint rattle of chain, and the sting of cold steel, the kind of steel that has not felt the touch of warm flesh for many a year, for its owner fell in decades passed.

Its gleaming antlers are still pristine. Its two chips of emerald still bright. I hold the stag amulet in my hands, and bring it close to the bronze wolf's head.

"I'm ready, Skjor," I whisper, aware that my voice is soft. It is as though I have no strength to speak anymore. "I'm ready."

I don't feel afraid, strangely enough. After all, I'm only returning. What has stretched on has been merely borrowed, and now it is time to return it. I lie down on the bed. It feels strangely comfortable, very welcoming for my old body. My heart's pains are starting to ease; I know that I will rest easy.

For a moment, I lie in the bed, and my breathing deepens. It feels heavy in my chest. It's easier to hold it, I realize, rather than expelling and inhaling in the rhythmic pattern I had followed all my life. I hold the amulet close to my heart. The wolf's head lies amongst the antlers, secured in the embrace of the fine stag whom she had accompanied all throughout her lifetime. She remembers a promise that she and her antlered companion made many years ago. It is time to reap its reward.

The candlelight dies as I doze away into a dreamless sleep, hearing the faintest whispering of wolf song as I leave the world behind.

* * *

The chirping of a young songbird rouses me. Its voice is sweet, and shrill, carrying a worldly melody on its tongue. I hear the gentle crackle of twigs, murmur of leaves, mumbling of branches, as a tree is shifted in the wind. Then a second, and more and more, making a chorus in a whispering harmony to the birdsong.

I open my eyes. Above me gleams a bright sun against a clear sky, a sky a bright silver as though it is covered in early morning mist. It glitters and gleams like a thousand stars woven into refined malachite. A humming wind whistles past me, and I twitch my nose. I can smell a hundred scents hitching a ride on the breeze. Budding wildflowers full in bloom; the stale scent of where a rabbit had passed by not long ago; the fresh smell of ferns and broken bracken; the tang of deer stirring up the earth as they flew over the ground.

They give me energy, and I sit up. Around me is grass, grass of deep summer green, long and lush and wild. It's soft and cool and for a moment I revel at its touch. It feels so fresh. I throw my body back upon the ground and roll gleefully upon my back in the soft dirt.

My legs flail past my face and I'm not at all surprised to see that they're long with short, tough toes and hardened outer nails. I'm not surprised to feel the new shape of my head, or the fact that something heavy is lolling about near my flanks, something that I can control as easily as I can control my limbs. I roll back onto my front and push myself off the ground, giving myself a thorough shake to get off the stray strands of grass.

Then I look about me more clearly. I'm standing at the edge of an endless meadow. Beyond lie groves and clumps of trees and ferns, bracken and thorns and a mass of brambles. Whispers are echoing from within the dark shadows of the straggled woodland. I can hear the soft pattering of tiny paws drumming a gentle rhythm. I hear the shrill screech of a hawk. I tilt my snout up to the sky to see the majestic creature gliding sedately about the silver sky with wings catching the light. Beyond, a bear roars, a harsh sound without grace, and yet it still sounds like music to my slanted ears.

The wind tickles my dark fur again, and I'm suddenly struck with an urge to run. And yet, even as I take a few steps forward, looking about me, I feel a strange reluctance holding me back. I'm puzzled; why would I want to be held back?

Then I hear the gentle drum of hoofbeats echoing behind me. I turn around; senses are awakening within me, and I bare my teeth in a snarl. Immediately, when I see who the comer is, I cease in my growling, turn to face him, and bow my head low.

"Straighten, Huntress!" he declares, and his voice thunders in a great boom, no longer a melodious murmuring in my ears, but true and pure; the lord in his own realm. He blinks two enormous eyes down at me, and tilts his head bearing a magnificent crown of antlers. "You have served me well, and this is your hour, your moment of paradise."

I look up. "Lord Hircine," I say quietly. "Father."

He laughs and sweeps his arm out across the distant prairie. "See now the glories of my Hunting Grounds!" he declares. "It is what you may make of it; but it is unsettled, much as is the prey! It will and shall change, continuously, to suit my desire, but my desire for now, my daughter, is to see you happy, and reunited."

The final word makes something leap in my chest, and I let out a gasp. "My Lord!"

"Speak not unto me," says Hircine, and there is a gentle smile in his eyes, a strangely father-like one. "But unto your pack."

At that moment, we hear a wolf's call, haunting and clear as water, echo about us.

I whirl around, for it is a call that I recognize. And suddenly, my eyes widen in my head, and the breath is knocked from my body. Then I am howling in return, howling like I have never howled before, my voice ringing with that of six others, several which I recognize.

Then they come racing over the rise in a wonderous display, calling my name. They are all there, and I cannot hold back a whimper of joy when I see who is leading the pack. He gazes upon me with two eyes bright and gleaming, and he shouts my name in a mortal voice.

"Aela!" he calls. "Aela!"

I call back, and bound forward. "Skjor!"

He pulls ahead of the others. His long, dark fur ripples in the wind, outlining his handsome face even more. An achingly familiar scent engulfs me. I run faster, faster and faster. It feels as though we are crossing a great divide; but then the divide is crossed, and suddenly after all these years, after all these decades, after what feels like eternity...

...he is there, physical, solid, _real_, achingly and beautifully _real_.

I bowl him over and he tumbles to the ground. With a yelp, he shifts his weight, sending us tumbling until at last we flop exhausted within the long rushes of grass. I gaze into his eyes and he gazes into mine; it is him, truly him. We smile and laugh and hold each other close.

"Aela," he whispers softly into my ear. "Aela, you've made it."

"Nothing would have stopped me," I murmur in answer, my voice strangely constricted for a creature of howling.

Skjor gazes at me. "Aela, I'm so sorry that I left you so soon," he murmurs, sounding sorrowful, and his ears flatten as he rolls onto his stomach. "You should not have been left alone..."

"I wasn't alone," I tell him, rolling onto my belly so we are gazing evenly at one another. "But I missed you, my love."

I hear a gruff voice growl nearby, "Can we leave the romance out of this?"

The shock of hearing the voice propels me to my feet and makes me whirl around. "Orgmund?" I gasp.

He gives a wolfish grin. "Nice to see you too, Huntress, though you took your sweet bloody time."

Beside him, the elegant and uniquely-shaped Samiith gives him a friendly shove. "Don't be so impatient, old bear," he says, a faint un-wolfish hiss edging his words. "Let them have their moment of reuniting. They've been waiting a long time for this, after all."

"But we have hunting to do!" A pure-black she-wolf states, in a vaguely familiar, hard-edged growl. Her eyes flash and her tail wags and she pummels the ground restlessly. "The deer are running; we must be swift!"

"Patience, Taija," smiles her dark russet companion, tall, lean-legged and strong. "We have all eternity now. We're reunited, as a pack."

"Her words have truth, you know," Lemaat adds. But there's a puppylike flare in his eyes, and his tail wags like an excited hound's. "We have no time to lose; we must hunt, as one!"

I look about my pack; to Taija, the Sister who had died to the Silver Hand so long ago, who I had begun my battle with in her name; to Leiknir, the Harbinger who encountered me, and I with him, only once in our lifetimes. It seems that he has embraced the wolf, or perhaps the hunt alongside his Companions; to Samiith, gazing at me with a familiar kindly gleam in his reptilian-like eyes; to Orgmund, whom I had killed to release, and who had found his way to the Hunting Grounds; to Lemaat, who found his peace from the Closing Wars, grinning at me with that very familiar arrogant twinkle in his eye.

Then I turn to Skjor. He hauls himself to his paws and smirks.

"Welcome home, Huntress," he says. "Welcome home to your family."

"Your pack," Taija adds. She dips her head as our gazes met. "I know of your deeds after my death," she goes on. "I am honoured that though we rarely had a chance to speak, to even get to understand one another in life, you still so willingly fought for me, hunted in my name, after my death. You are a true Companion; you have succeeded where for many years, we have failed."

"The Silver Hand is destroyed," says Orgmund approvingly. "Thanks to you, and to the Dragonborn. The spirits of our Brothers and Sisters slain by their foul hand are at rest."

"I only regret not seeing you turn Panjor with my own eyes," says Samiith, grinning. "It would have been a lovely pleasure to witness."

"Panjor," I murmur, suddenly alarmed. "Is he here?"

"Oh, he's been in the Hunting Grounds for a long time," booms Hircine from behind us, sounding most amused. "But he knows to avoid you, Huntress; he knows to avoid all of you. He is as sly and as cunning as a fox here, but his fear is sweet to taste."

"I can imagine," I admit.

"You did a good thing, Huntress," says Skjor, gently giving me a shove. "You really are a remarkable hunter. A true daughter of the moon."

"Come," says Lemaat, turning away and tilting his snout towards the distant horizons. "I can hear the deer herd moving. If we run, we can catch them."

I give a barking laugh, coming to stand beside him. "Lemaat, I was _born_ to run."

He turns and grins. "Then show me how fast you can stretch your legs, Huntress."

I look about my pack, suddenly unsure. "Are...you want me to lead?"

"Why not?" Skjor questions, as he puts his snout close to my ear. "This is, after all, your party."

"And we're merely the ones in attendance," Leiknir adds. "Go on, girl. I think you've deserved it."

I can feel their fur brushing against my flanks. They're preparing themselves. And suddenly, I'm smiling, and I throw back my head and give the loudest, deepest howl that I have ever released. It thrums through the air; the call of the hunt, and it is accompanied in harmony with the voices of my Brothers and Sister. The wind blows, buffeting our pelts.

I take the first leaping bounds; we race down the hill as the pack, our paws drumming an endless rhythm into the ground. High above the eagle circles, watching the ground for rabbit. Birds twitter and sing in the trees. Beyond I hear the deer spring, but they cannot evade the true hunters of this world.

With Skjor at my side, and my pack streaming behind me, I run.

I do what I was born to do.

To hunt.

For I am a she-wolf, _the_ she-wolf, the daughter of the moon. I am the Sister of the Companions, foretold to tread a great and terrible path, but a path that I do not, and will not, regret. I am Aela the Huntress once more; and my voice carries throughout the mighty Hunting Grounds as seven sleek-furred wolves vanish as one into the untamed wilderness that lies beyond.

* * *

**A/N: That is that. I aim to finish a few tales before I begin another - but I've been known to break a few promises...so far on the poll the next story you want to see from me after Daughter of the Sky is Alyssa's revelations. The poll will continue to stay up until I finish a few stories. You are all wonderful. For the last time in The Huntress, Shout is Out.**


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